


No Matter What

by StripedScribe



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: 'Death' we say, Amputation, Avengers Tower, Beating, Bedbound, Blades, Blood, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Bruises, But he might be back, CPR, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Car Accidents, Character Death, Coming Out, Domestic Avengers, Drowning, Drugging, Electrocution, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fire, Food Poisoning, Frostbite, Hallucinations, Heart Attacks, Hospitals, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Human Auction, Human Trafficking, Hypothermia, I'm not a doctor, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insomnia, Irondad, Kidnapping, Missing Persons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Rescue, Restraints, Robbery, S3 Spoiler Free, Scars, Serious Injuries, Severe frostbite and related damage, Shooting, Stabbing, Submission, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags Are Hard, Team Dynamics, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Torture, Trans Male Character, Tumblr Prompt, Unknown narrator, Whumptober 2018, Writing on Skin, physiotherapy, still not a doctor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-07-23 08:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 30,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripedScribe/pseuds/StripedScribe
Summary: Filling Prompts for Whumptober 2018.'We'll get through this, no matter what."





	1. Stabbed

"Ouch, fuck, no, fuck. Fuck." Letting out a slow breath of air, the figure in the red suit stumbled into a dark alleyway, before sliding down a wall, gloved hands pressing against his side.  
"Fuck. Well, at least the knifes still in there, right? That's good, right? Fuck." He let out a deep breath, trying to will the pain away, he couldn't just stop here. At least he'd managed to protect that girl from the muggers, he could still remember how terrified she was, but then how worried she was about him, as he stumbled away, needing to get away before the police turned up. They may not mind him helping them out, but if they saw how injured he was, they'd insist on taking him to the hospital. He couldn't risk his identity being revealed.

"Peter, I've alerted Mr Stark to your situation, he's on his way, stay there."  
"Aw Karen I love you." Finally sat on the floor, Peter let out a slow whistle, and looked around himself. "Karen, is this all my blood? Ya know, there seems to be a lot here."  
"My systems suggest so Peter, I would advise you don't move, you may be bleeding internally, the damage to your suit has rendered me incapable of determining the extent of your injuries." Peter picked at the various holes in his suit, slashes and gashes where his enemies tonight had attacked him, and from where he hadn't repaired it from the night before. They had some new weapons, a new type of metal, which seemed stronger, sharper, normal blades hadn't been able to pierce this suit before.  
"Yep, sounds good. I'll just sit here, maybe take a nap, I'm kinda tired you know, long patrol."  
"Mr Stark has asked that I keep you awake and talking, I'm sorry Peter, but you can't fall asleep."  
"But Kareennnn." Peter whined, his head falling to the side before he winced in pain. "Okay maybe no to the whole moving thing. What time is it Karen?"  
"A little before midnight, Mr Stark suggests you ring your Aunt and tell her you're staying at the tower tonight, that he's on his way to pick you up now else she'll worry. Mr Stark is minutes away from your location."  
"He's driving?"  
"Yes Peter, you've been stabbed, he can't carry you in a suit."

Peter looked down at his hands, seeming to remember the pain he was in. "Oh, yeah that makes sense. Yeah, stabbed. No flying when I've been stabbed, that should be a rule. Karen is that a rule?"  
"Mr Stark and Miss Potts insist on the rules that no one should be out patrolling when they're injured in any way, as far as I can tell that includes stabbings Peter."  
"Hmm yeah. Wait, was I supposed to be ringing Aunt May?" He pulled up his mask, suddenly feeling very lightheaded, not noticing the blood on his hand which was then rubbed over his face.  
"I took the liberty of messaging her for you Peter, she may ring you later."  
"Thanks Karen. Hey, we need to get onto Double D, he doesn't follow the no going out when injured rule."  
"Mr Stark thinks Daredevil is a bad influence on you."  
"Noooo Karen, Red's my pal! I mean, we've teamed up like twice now, and he doesn't like me interfering in Hell's Kitchen, but like, he's good people, like you Karen. He hasn't got superhealing or anything so we gotta look out for him. That's what I do Karen, I gotta look out for the people who need help, even if they don't think they need help."

Karen's voice seemed to become softer "We know Peter, right now you've got to let Mr Stark look after you. He's nearly here, hang on."  
"You know Karen, you're like the big sister I never had. I'm really glad Mr Stark made you the way you are."

A car suddenly stopped at the end of the alleyway, a figure jumping out and running towards the figure on the ground.  
"Peter! Peter! Peter it's okay, I'm here, you're gonna be alright. Shit kid, what did they do to you?" Tony knelt down, his hands covering Peter's where they surrounded the knife still.  
"Hey Mr Stark, just a light stabbing, usual night's work. But yeah, any chance of me using your super high tech infirmary tonight?"  
"Pete, how many times, Tony is fine. C'mon kid, lets get you up here, into the car. You reckon you can stand? Keep one hand on your stomach, keep that still, here." Tony pushed guaze into Peter's hand, keeping pressure on his wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "How are you still talking kiddo... Any other man would be unconscious." Tony shook his head as he got to his feet, before crouching next to Peter, wrapping an arm around his back and grabbing his free hand.'  
"Okay, on three Pete, stand up slowly, say if you get lightheaded and we'll stop."  
"'kay."  
"1, 2, 3, up we go, gently now." As one, they stood up, Peter teetering a little on his feet before leaning on Tony.  
"Kid, when are you going to stop growing? This worked easier when you were shorter than me. Come on, to the car." They moved slowly, Peter seeming to lean on Tony more with each step, as the latter tried to ignore the bloody footprints they were leaving behind them, a stark reminder of how much pain Peter must be in, and of just how injured he was. "We'll get you patched up kiddo, get your suit fixed too. Karen said they're using some new blades? We'll make your suit better Pete, stop you from being injured again. Look after our friendly neighbourhood Spiderman."  
Tony gently helped Peter sit in the car, lowering the seat so he was almost laid out, before jumping in the driver's seat, racing off to the compound. He kept glancing over to Peter, who's eyes kept fluttering open and shut, as he mumbled under his breath.

  
"We'll get through this kid, no matter what. I've got to protect you Peter."


	2. Bloody Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kinda ran away with me, it does fill the prompt eventually though! Hope you enjoy, thanks for all the kudos and comments!

Living a double life tended to leave little time for rest. Matt’s routine seemed to keep him going all hours of the day, never stopping, always having somewhere to be, someone to help, either as a lawyer or as the devil. He’d wake up in the morning for work, at about 7am, get to the office for 8, work until 5. After walking home, he’d get something to eat, and try and snooze or meditate until the sun went down. Patrol lasted the majority of the evening, crime seemed to die down after about 3am so he often headed home then, resting for a couple of hours before work again.

 

Everyone around him knew this routine was impossible, knew that one day, he’d be too tired, too drained, and something would happen. He wouldn’t listen to anyone though, too stubborn in his own ways to care about his own health, not when he could hear others suffering in his city.

It had been a late Thursday night in a cold winter, he’d struggled all night to keep warm, luckily it seemed as though most criminals also found it too cold to be out, he’d only dropped to the streets a couple of times to stop muggings and burglaries. He’d taken to practising parkour across rooftops to keep warm, and ignore any signs of hypothermia. A handful of teens were out, revelling in their disobedience and drinking in the local park, the alcohol in their system making them not realise just how cold they were, although their body temperature and hearts did. Matt dropped down to them, walking calmly.

“Hey kids, its too cold for you to be out, haven’t you got places to be?”

“Whoa its Daredevil!” They started to chatter amongst themselves, not expecting to see their local vigilante in the park. ”The devil? What’s he want to do with us?”

“Shouldn’t you be off stopping muggings and stuff? Not badgering us? We’re fine.” ”C’mon, its too cold for anyone to be out, you stay out here much later you’re going to catch your death of cold.” Matt hoped Daredevil’s gravelly voice worked on teens as much as it did criminals, he didn’t want to hear through the Hell’s Kitchen rumour mill that these kids had all ended up in hospital or ill after staying out all night.

“Daredevil you sound like my mother, we’re fine! Its not that cold out.” ”Either you take yourselves home and sneak in however you snuck out, or I call the police and report you for suspicious behaviour. I’m sure they’ll love to have a chat with your parents, at what, nearly midnight.”

“Okay, okay, we didn’t realise how late it was anyway.” With that, they hopped off the wall.

“Actualllyy, whilst you’re here… Can we take a picture? Prove we met you?” The teen asking scuffed their shoes against the dirt floor, whilst their companions perked up at the idea.

“Go on then.” Matt huffed, a smile gracing his mouth, not that they would notice in the dark. The teens arranged themselves, the young asker reaching their arm out to take a selfie of the group of them. Matt hoped he managed to look correctly at the camera, without Foggy here to check him he was moving blind, but he knew that this picture could mean the world to these kids. And if him getting a picture taken could stop these kids staying out all night, and keep them at home safe, then that is what it would take.

He heard the click of their phone a couple of times, and took his exit, shouting back, “You go home now kids! Be safe!” He’d heard a commotion a couple blocks over, shouting and crashing. As he got closer, he realised it was a family dispute, two parents shouting, screaming at their child.

 

“You’re so ungrateful! After everything we do for you? It’s all this goddam internet, its just a phase! You’re my daughter! Why would you do this, why would you cut your beautiful hair, why would you pretend to be someone you’re not?!”

“Mom, Mom, no! Please don’t hurt me, I didn’t think you’d take it this way! Please. Don’t let him hurt me! NO!” The child, Matt estimated to be about 14, and their father twice their size, was being picked up, screaming and pleading all the while. “NO! No. You can’t do this! You can’t kick me out, where am I supposed to go!? Just because I’m your son, not your daughter?! NO!” He broke down crying, sobbing, as his father dropped him on the doorstep, the door slamming behind them as he took in big, shuddering breaths. Matt could hear his parents behind the door, discussing what had happened, sharing language no child should ever have to hear directed at them. He slowly approached them, hands held in safety.

“Hey, hey kiddo, its okay. I know, I know you’re scared, this shouldn’t have happened to you. Can I come closer?”

The kid nodded, softly, before trying to scrub his tears away, looking up at the Devil’s mask in fear.

“What am I supposed to do now? They don’t want me back, I struggled for ages about whether to tell them or not, I thought they loved me, I thought I would be safe.”

“I’m sorry kiddo. Hey, what’s your chosen name?” ”I’m Leo.” The kid, Leo, shivered, he was only wearing light clothing, and his parents hadn’t even cared as they threw him out onto the streets. Matt despised people like that, when you bring a child into the world, you should love them, no matter who they become. ”Okay Leo, what do you want to do now? Do you have somewhere you can go, a friend’s perhaps?”

“My aunt, she’s a couple blocks over, she knows about me, thought it’d be safe for me to come out to my parents now. Looks like we were wrong.” Leo sounded so bitter and so defeated for someone so young, and Matt’s heart broke a little bit more.

“C’mon kid, lets get you to her house then. Leave your parents some time to cool off, get you inside and warmed up. You can talk to your aunt and work out what you want to do now.”

“I can’t ever go home can I?” ”I don’t know Leo, I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

 

Matt helped Leo to get to his aunt’s house, giving her a brief overview of what had happened, as the kid really didn’t want to talk, slight sobs continuing to rack his body.

“My hands are numb, do you mind writing a note for me? Need to tell his parents he’s safe and that the Devil’s got him.”

“Won’t that make them worry more?” She asked, whilst rummaging to find some paper and a pen.

“Don’t they deserve it though?” A devil’s grin spread across his face, and she made a sound of agreement, writing out a note.

Daredevil couldn’t help reaching out to ruffle the kids hair as he left, “You be safe now Leo, your aunt’s got you, it’ll be okay.”

 

He ran home, anger coursing through his veins, he’d slipped the note under the door of Leo’s family home, and could still hear their argument carrying on, both parents dismaying and refusing to accept him. Matt hated it when a child’s enemy, when anyone’s enemy came from someone they thought loved them, he thought a parent vowed to love their children no matter what.

 

The next morning, he awoke, still angry at the world, and went through the motions of getting ready for work, getting dressed, having something to eat quickly. He didn’t notice just how shaky his hands were, and missed the side of the counter when putting his glass down, it fell to the floor and shattered into pieces.

 

Taking a deep breath, he dropped to his hands and knees, trying to collect the broken glass, to clean it up. As the shards sliced his hands, he realised he didn’t care, this pain was nothing in comparison to what the rest of the city was facing, he needed to be better at protecting people. When the glass was cleaned up, the smell of copper piercing the air, he realised just how battered and bloody his hands were, and that the sleeves of his shirt were likely bloody too. He cleaned up, changing his shirt, wrapping his hands in gauze, before putting on his glasses, grabbing his cane, and heading to the office. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too late if he hurried.


	3. Insomnia

She hadn’t been sleeping. Even less than she did before, what with the images of Kilgrave flooding her dreams every night. Now she woke up panting, imagining herself stuck under the rubble of Midland Circle, or watching herself release the elevator, taking away his one chance of escape. They’d just left him to die, left him to chase after that woman, Elektra, like he had any chance of saving her. And now Matt Murdock had been declared missing, and people speculated over how a blind lawyer could disappear, about how vulnerable he must be. Danny had taken up the daredevil mantle, protecting the city, wearing a similar suit on some nights so it wasn’t obvious the lawyer and the devil had disappeared at the same time. They knew how important his identity was to him, that he wanted to protect his friends.

”Not sure how much protecting you’re doing down there Murdock.” She looked at the time, 4am, better than nothing she supposed.

 

Danny didn’t know how Matt had managed to get enough rest, he was struggling. Working during the day, having enough time to see Colleen, and then out patrolling at night, either in a Daredevil-esque suit around Hells Kitchen, or investigating the Hand. Even when he did try to sleep, it was often in vain, waking up in a panic, with visions of all those he knew dead or dying. The image of Colleen, looking peaceful, but covered in blood, seemed burned into his eyes, and was all he could see sometimes. The other Defenders, laid out, defeated by some enemy, whilst he was stuck, unable to help. He needed to be more, to be able to help more, protect more. He knew that someone needed to be around, to stop these things happening. Colleen worried he was driving himself into the ground, working too hard, but it was his responsibility, Matt needed him to.

 

Since Matt had died, Foggy had become used to hiding his tiredness, hiding just how tired he felt. His colleagues kept telling him to take time off, but it was pointless, he just couldn’t sleep, whenever he tried he just woke up, replaying him giving Matt that bag, replaying their last moment together. The night he found out Matt was Daredevil visited his dreams often, but Matt didn’t wake up. Visions of Matt broken, bloody, bruised, buried under a building. He hoped it was quick, painless, but they hadn’t found a body yet, something he was both thankful and terrified about. What if they found out who Matt was, found out he was Daredevil. Or what if his body had been stolen, they knew Elektra had been brought back to life to be the Hand’s weapon, he just hoped and prayed that wouldn’t happen to Matt, that his broken body hadn’t been stolen to become the Hand’s weapon, a puppet, someone they could control.

They’d held a private funeral, Father Lanthom knew of Matt’s double life, and they sat, in the church, crying, or too numb to cry. Officially he was missing, he couldn’t be declared dead without a body, not without 7 years in absentia. Their small group knew his body must be underneath all that rubble, but it would take months to clean it up, and anyone underneath would be dead already. Hopefully. Hopefully he was dead, and not just stuck, hadn’t been running out of oxygen, trapped, losing blood.

 

They couldn’t bear to imagine him dead and battered, and yet all the members of the team, all their friends, their families, constantly worried. Those that just thought him missing poured their time and energy into trying to find him, Foggy’s family had countless groups on the internet, printed countless photos, gotten in touch with countless news platforms, hoping, pleading, he would be found.

 

This just broke those closest to him even more.

 

They knew he was dead, but couldn’t tell anyone. Knew that they’d had his funeral, that he wasn’t coming back, he was gone. But 7 years was a long time for them to have to wait, before they could mourn properly, and openly, for the man that had meant so much to them. 7 years of having to contribute to the searches, speculating over where he could have gone, knowing that he was at the bottom of Midland Circle, his body broken, battered, and bloody. That he was vulnerable, and what would be left by the time they actually found him, by the time the diggers had taken away all the rubble. Would he even be identifiable, could they even determine it was painless, please let it have been quick. What headstone would they buy, so he could be buried in the same graveyard as his father, reunited at last.

 

Constant, looping thoughts plagued the minds of the resident’s of Hell’s Kitchen, they all knew of the blind lawyer who’d help bring down Wilson Fisk, and protect them. Even though he was missing, nothing much seemed to change. His colleague, Franklin Nelson, had moved to a larger law firm, but took as many pro bono cases as he could to support his city. They all saw how hard it was for him without his partner, pretended to not notice how tired he was getting, how worn down his was over the loss of his lifelong friend.

 

Something deep down in them made them doubt if Matt was even dead. Surely, something would feel different if he’d died. Danny brought out his apartment, and it remained untouched, almost as though they were just waiting for him to get home.


	4. "No, stop!"

“Not here, not now.” Bruce looked in panic around the room, a gathering of local ‘heroes’, people who’d done good things in their community and where getting that recognition. Tony had explained the benefits of some of the Avengers joining him, speaking to those in their community, that it would make them seem more human and down to earth. He’d begrudgingly come along when the others were called away for various reasons, so Tony wouldn’t be on his own, not that he would have minded. Although he wouldn’t be seen as human if the Hulk broke out, the damage, the destruction he would cause. Not here, where there were innocent people, people who couldn’t defend themselves. Scanning the room, he managed to lock eyes with Tony, who he saw swear under his breath, before swiftly moving through the crowd towards him.

 

“Hey, hey Bruce, big guy, its okay, just breathe.” Tony grabbed Bruce’s hand, pushing it against his own chest, and taking deep breaths. “With me big guy, okay, in, and out. That’s it.” Bruce’s eyes continued to dart around the room, and Tony soon noticed that he was tracking a specific person, an older woman who seemed to be on her own. He couldn’t recall her name but seemed to remember she was a recently retired police officer from the city, who was well known and trusted by the community.

 

“Why’s she got the Other Guy so hot and bothered, hey? Talk to me Bruce, do you want to get out?” Tony continued breathing deeply, encouraged by Bruce’s breathing levelling out as well, but worried about the green that was still taking over his eyes.

 

“I think I ought to go Tony, don’t know, don’t think I can stop him. Need to get us out of here, he wants to get to her. Although I don’t think its with anger, but he definitely recognises her.”

“Okay big guy, lets head to that door over there, gently gently. Do you know who she is?” ”I’ve got an inkling, well, he keeps roaring at me about it. He kept remembering her in our dreams for a while. Let me get out, then I’ll tell you, need to concentrate on the Other Guy for a while.”

They walked down various corridors, Bruce breathing sharply, attempting to keep his breaths even, to keep himself and the other guy calm, safe. Tony was trying to lead them outside, but at occasional intersections they’d be stopped, asked if he was okay.

 

“No, stop! Not here Hulk, I know, I know but not here.” As much as Bruce tried to show that he had a handle on the Other Guy, that he could control him, intense emotions could easily break that wall, especially when they were so agitated, so upset, triggered by the memory of that woman, and the pain they felt the last time they saw her.

Tony pushed open a door, and they were outside, fresh air. The security guard stationed outside looked at them in concern, Tony waved him off, “Anxiety attack, he’ll be fine, we just need to take 5 minutes, nothing to worry about, thank you though.” Thankfully the general public didn’t yet know about the Hulk’s alter ego being Dr Banner, who would even think to link the quiet kind doctor to the green monster.

 

“Bruce, Bruce, you still with me? Do you need to get back to the tower?” They both knew what Tony’s unspoken words meant, that in the Tower was the hulk-proof room, if it was just easier to let the Hulk out, let what was going to happen, happen. But to Bruce, that just felt like giving up, giving in to what the Hulk wanted. He already took what little sleep he could have, every time he slept he was plagued by what he could only assume were the Hulk’s dreams, or nightmares. In these, he was stuck, as an observer, powerless to do anything. As a scientist, he could look at the positives, he never remembered his time spent as the hulk, so these dreams gave him an insight into how the hulk acted. But he never felt rested after his sleep, hadn’t felt truly himself for years, not since the accident, not since he’d had to share his mind with this creature.

He barely noticed Tony guiding him to a car, of Happy asking what had happened. He noticed Happy quickly driving faster after they made eye contact, his green eyes explaining everything, words not needed. The drive to the Tower seemed to go too slowly, Bruce’s entire time spent pleading with himself, apologising to himself, to Tony, to whoever would listen. Once in the Tower, JARVIS didn’t ask, just took them in the elevator to the hulk-out room, Bruce quickly sitting down and trying to keep breathing steadily.

 

“Bruce, it’s okay, you’re safe. If you need to let him out, he won’t hurt anyone in here, it seems like he really wants to get out. I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t let him out, I don’t know how long you can hold him for.”

”Shouldn’t have to let him out, shouldn’t have to, its my body, my control, why does it always seem like he’s in control. He only hurts people when he gets out, only causes damage, only murders people, lets children die.”

 

Tony reached out, trying to put his hand on Bruce’s arm to try and ground him, but he was simply pushed away, the quiet man already seeming stronger, his eyes remaining green, and a tinge overtaking his skin.

 

“No Tony, no, stop, I don’t want to see you hurt again by me! By us!” His voice was becoming more gravelly, more hulk like, but he continued to try in vain to stop the Hulk taking over, Tony could almost see the fight which was taking place inside his friend’s mind. He also saw the moment Bruce lost that fight, when he froze, eyes locking onto Tony’s in fear. “GO TONY! Get out!”

 

As Tony ran to the door, he heard the Hulk roar, buttons from Bruce’s suit falling to the floor as the fabric ripped. Once outside, he turned, shutting the door and looking through the glass as the hulk beat the wall, in anger, before seeming to calm and sit down. He almost seemed upset over something, perhaps that woman sparked a memory for him.


	5. Poisoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this one, hence the length, couldn't decide on a plot or characters for ages. So have an Avengers Tower fic which barely fills the prompt

It had been another late night, the whole team exhausted after a battle with one of New York’s latest so-called supervillians. A mutant, with the ability to warp metal, and handful of her goons, all set up with various technology to target the team. Iron Man had been put out of action quickly, his suit powered down and ripped apart with him inside it, before being trapped in a vice of what was once a street’s worth of signs and lightposts. The rest of the team couldn’t do anything to rescue him, even the Captain wasn’t strong enough to just bend the metal like that, and every time he tried the villain would stop him, swinging whatever she could grab towards him. All the metal the team had in their suits was violated, Black Widow upon realising their enemy had dropped all her weapons, choosing instead to use hand to hand combat. Hawkeye’s latest bow was a prototype, a lightweight polymer plastic version, and many of his arrows contained little metal so he could continue to fight. Thor was off-planet, so couldn’t assist them.

 

Eventually, with the Hulk’s assistance, they managed to capture the villain, and neutralise her powers. She was shipped off to prison, to await her trial and chosen punishment, most likely a stint in the Raft. The Hulk was able to drag away the metal surrounding Iron Man, releasing him, although the suit was damaged, likely beyond repair, and Tony himself was injured, covered in a variety of scrapes and cuts where he had been bounced around inside the suit, and the suit had been crushed into him. Luckily nothing long term, although on arrival to the tower he was swiftly taken to medical, and returned covered in a variety of bandages and dressings.

 

“Okay, who’s hungry? JARVIS who is still open and can deliver to the tower?” As he limped back into the common room, sweats and a hoodie covering some of his wounds, he realised just how starving he was after that battle.

 

“There are 6 local takeaways, and 1 caterers, which can deliver at this time of night and for your appetites.” Although there were only 5 of them, Cap would quite often eat enough for 3 or 4 people, and Bruce would no doubt be starving when we woke up, having had crashed as soon as he came back. “The takeaways include a pizzeria, Indian, Chinese, and a taco place. The caterers can deliver a variety of bulk made food, including pasta dishes and other home cooked food.”

 

“Everyone just order what you want through JARVIS, he’ll work out the best place to get it from and get us some orders going.”

 

A couple of hours later, everyone was full, dozing in chairs and sofas around the common room, discussing the battle, how they could improve their gear to stop anything happening like that again. They soon dispersed, each to their own rooms, leaving a note on the food in the kitchen should Bruce come out hungry.

 

The next morning Tony awoke to JARVIS’s voice as usual.

“Good morning sir, it is 5:15am, you have a voicemail from one of the takeaways you used last night.”

“Play it please JARVIS? What do they want?”

 

__“Er, hello, Mr Stark? Um, I’m sorry to have to call you like this, but we need to inform our customers, there appears to have been a dodgy batch of rice used, some fellow customers have been complaining of food poisoning. As you ordered a large quantity of our rice, chances are you may have had some of the dangerous food. We have refunded you the price of your meal last night, our sincerest apologies.”_ _

 

“Oh that’s great… I’m glad I wasn’t fancying rice last night, although I think everyone else had some. JARVIS is anyone else up yet?” ”Mr Rogers has gone for his morning run around the park. He complained of feeling a little under the weather but put it down to tiredness and hoped that a run would perk him up. No one is awake yet.”

 

“Okay, okay great. When they get up, or when Steve gets back, can you let them know? And can we stock in some medication and foods suitable for recovering from food poisoning? I think we might be in for a rough couple of days.”


	6. Betrayal

As the night wore on, the drinks continued to flow. They were at Josie’s, celebrating the downfall of Fisk, he was locked up and couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. Matt knew he’d be nursing a hangover in the morning, but couldn’t find it in himself to care, everyone was safe, his friend’s were happy, they were together. Life could get a little less stressful now, they could get a little more secure in their little world and hopefully get some more customers to their firm. But for now, the night was about celebration, everyone in the pub was rowdy but enjoying themselves. They’d tried and failed to get Matt to play darts with them, “I’m not drunk enough for that yet guys, come on I don’t want to send someone to hospital!”, instead he just listened as Foggy and Karen had a go, their laughter after each round bringing a smile to his face as he nursed his beer.

“Actually Karen, did we ever tell you about the night Matt played darts at college?” ”Foggy, no! No, that’s not a story I want telling!” Matt laughed as he tried to hide his head in his hands, shaking his head and nearly slipping off his chair as Foggy pushed him, “C’mon Matt she’ll love it!”

Turning to Karen, Foggy carried on talking. “Okay, so, it was a party, we were at some random blokes house, what was his name?” ”Clint I think? From your Punjabi class?” ”You took Punjabi Foggy?” queried Karen, eyebrows raising in amusement.

“Haha, only because he fancied one of the girls in there.” ”Anyway, we were at this guy Clint’s house, and he’s like, lets play darts, and we were all completely smashed and didn’t realise how bad of an idea this was. We bully Matt into playing, and he says, only if someone lines him up and helps him with how to actually throw them, because, because, what was it you said Matt?” Foggy breaks into laughter, the scene obviously replaying itself in his mind.

“I said, funnily enough no one’s ever taught me how to play darts, and I don’t even know where the board is.”

“Yeah, yeah, so like, I grab him, and we have a little dance whilst I work out exactly where the board is in comparison to him, and try to explain to him how to throw it. He goes, ‘I hope everyone is well away from here, because they’ve decided to let the blind dude throw sharp objects.’”

Matt slumped to the table in defeat, covering his head with his arms and groaning. ”Foggy I hate you.”

“No you don’t. But yeah, I was like holding his arm, and trying not to fall over at the same time. I mean, in hindsight I probably should have admitted I was seeing double by then, but at the time it was hilarious.” ”What Foggy? I trusted you, you were my eyes! We were doomed to fail from the start.” Matt murmured from his position on the table, refusing to move and show his embarrassment.

“So, we were lined up, Clint had gotten most people moved from the area. He’s deaf, and I know a little sign language from my cousin, so quietly he told me he was going to sit underneath the board, he said he trusted us to hit it.”

“Oh.” Karen said, patting Matt’s hand, “I think I can see where this is going.”

They were interrupted by Josie bringing over a round of drinks.

“These are from Officer Brett, he’s over there playing pool and thought you guys could use a celebratory drink after the past few weeks.” They shouted their thanks over the din of the bar, before passing Josie over their empties. ”So, we’re there, hyping him up, bribing him with more alcohol after. I’m stood behind him, like holding his arm to keep him in line, and just say, ‘So long as you through it in a straight line, you’ll at least hit the board.’ Bear in mind, we’d dragged Matt into this room, plonked him in the middle, I didn’t even think to say how far away the board was. But we were here now, so I just let him go. The first shot was amazing, he hit the board, got a 2, so pretty good, we were super chuffed and all our mates were impressed. We pass him another dart, say try a little higher next time.”

“I still take no responsibility for what happened. Not guilty.” Foggy by now was in peals of laughter, whilst Matt tried to keep a serious unimpressed face.

“So he lets go, and it was a beautiful shot, although it missed the board completely. Apparently Clint is a master of bodge-jobs, and the board was held up by a single pin. Matt’s dart somehow, I think ninja skills or just our combined awesomeness, managed to knock that pin out, and the whole board fell off the wall onto Clint’s head. Matt’s there, looking super confused about the noise, as Clint lets out a long cry of pain.” ”I felt so bad! We’re all there drunk, and somehow I’ve dropped a dart board on our hosts head.” ”Nah, he was fine about it, he kept drinking to drown out the pain throughout the night, although he probably should have had that checked out.”

“You betrayed me Foggy, how could you.” Their gifted drinks were quickly drunk, and Matt went over to the bar to order a new round. ”You’ve got plenty of stories about me Matt, you’ll get your revenge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I will try and get back to actual whump for this at some point... I'm failing at whumptober I think


	7. Kidnapped

It happened so quickly, a day quickly gone sour. She was just walking home, a little late in the evening but without worry.

 

A white van, number plates removed, windows tinted.

 

A shout, a scream, before pure darkness as they were thrown onto the moving metal, the sound of the door slamming behind them. More hands, grabbing, muffling any noise they could have made.

 

As their eyes adjusted to the area around them, all they could see was masked faces and the pure fear of fellow prisoners. They tried to see out the front, to peer at where they were, but they were pushed back. The van went around a corner too sharply, its passengers falling into the walls, the driver offering no apologies.

 

The victims wanted to talk, to offer compassion, but any noise they made was stopped by a swift slap of their masked attackers, or a hit with the butt of a rifle. So instead they sat in silence, holding hands, hugging, working out who else was stuck here in this hell hole. Trying to sooth the tears of the young girl, terrified and crying out for her parents. She catalogued who was with her, and quickly realised something that chilled her to the bone, and filled her with fear for herself and her companions.

 

A young girl, blonde, blue eyed, about 12, looking perfectly perfect and innocent, tear tracks covering her face as she quietly sobbed for her parents, so scared, so alone. She would be missed, a search should be started for her.

 

The van stopped, they all stiffened in fear, before it hurtled off again. Just a traffic light.

 

A teenage girl, blonde hair tied up messily under her ripped hoodie, soft grey eyes showing the fear that her body tried to hide, as she held hands with an older woman.

 

They all looked at each other in hope as they heard the sounds of a police siren behind them, before slumping in defeat as it simply passed them by.

 

About 25 years old, blonde, tall, a businesswoman judging by her suit and posture. A band on her finger showed she was married, her partner would have been expecting her home, hopefully then someone would know they were missing.

 

They must have left the main city, the road getting bumpier, the van falling into potholes but just carrying straight on, no care given to the prisoners. Their attackers seemed used to this, simply holding onto handles on the walls, their weapons held casually as they watched their prisoners in silence.

 

Early 30s, short bobbed black hair, petite, had obviously been grabbed whilst on an evening run, she was only wearing shorts and a sports bra. She was trying to stay warm, rubbing her arms.

 

The van stopped, the driver speaking to someone outside.

 

The last girl, a redhead, was young too, and seemed so confused by what was happening, her head darting around, seemingly trying to remember their route, tracing patterns into her leg.

 

“5, 1 for block A, 1 for B, 3 for C.”

“Go on through.”

 

They were moving slower, it sounded as though a heavy gate was being opened, and then closed again. And then their surroundings were silent, no traffic, no people around. They soon stopped, the driver turning back, saying to one of the men, “Block A.” He grabbed the black-haired woman, carrying her roughly out of the van as the rest of them sat in fear, wanting to clutch onto her, save her, but the gun pointed at them stopped anything from happening. The door was shut, the van carried on for a little way.

 

“Block B then, and we’ll finish off with the C group.” The driver said, and the redhead went out the same way as the other woman, her head darting around as she tried to see where she was, before they watched her shoved into a warehouse.

 

“C’mon then girlies, you going to behave or do we need to carry you too?” The driver and last passenger jumped out, guns pointing at the three remaining in the van. “Out you get, and keep walking.”

 

They held hands as they were shepherded into a warehouse, bright lights showing them exactly what it was storing. The door slammed behind them, and they heard locks closing. Around them must have been about 50 other women and girls, all sharing the same look of fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come shout at me on Tumblr or send me prompts?! https://stripedscribe.tumblr.com/


	8. Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this prompt and it didn't flow as well as I wanted it to, if I had more time I would have redone it but for now this will have to do. This chapter follows day 5 Poisoned

A few hours later, the rest of the team had awoken. Tony had thrown out all the food from the night before, not wanting to risk anyone else getting ill. As things were, he and Bruce were the only ones unaffected, and so had settled themselves to the task of looking after their team-mates, all of which were by now running a fever. Pepper and a lot of the SI stayed away from the puking team members, keeping to their own areas, and leaving them to be domestic amongst themselves. Steve, as a result of his serum, seemed to be speed-running through all the symptoms of food poisoning, so would hopefully, or unluckily, have a really rough day and then be fine much sooner than his un-enhanced team-mates.

 

Natasha and Clint were flitting between having collapsed in a puppy pile or trying to stay as far away from each other as possible when they felt too hot. JARVIS was keeping their area of the common room as cool as possible whilst still being comfortable.

 

“Tony?” Clint croaked from where he was hidden again under a pile of blankets, Natasha having had fallen asleep again. “I really feel shit. I’m burning up what do I do?”

”Clint, I’m sorry, all you can do is wait it out, keep drinking and trying to keep some food down. Here.” He passed over a new water bottle, trying to ignore how the whole floor just smelt like illness, and how terrible his team-mates looked. “All we need now is another Red Alert, because that would be typical. Touch wood-” He looked around before just tapping his own head.

“It all seems pretty calm out there, no one making any moves recently.”

”Don’t say that Tones, somethings going to happen now.” Clint whispered, either due to Natasha being asleep right next to him, or just how ill he felt. Steve had holed himself up in his own room, his television on and Tony or Bruce checking in on him every couple of hours.

 

“Don’t worry Clint, it’ll be fine.”

”Mr Stark?” Both men looked up as Jarvis started to talk.

“J buddy, what is it?”

”NYPD are requesting your assistance with a suspected enhanced individual. They appear to have Telekinesis.”

“Great. I’m on my way. Tell Bruce he’s babysitting all of them now.”

”I don’t want to say I told you so Tony, but…”

”Yeah yeah, shut up and get better Clint.”


	9. Stranded

It was so cold, and all his mind could do was repeat, over and over again the past few hours, working out where he had gone wrong. Yes, he shouldn’t have attacked them, but they knew who killed his parents, had hidden it from him, for who knows how long. He thought Steve was his friend, his ally, his team-mate, his family, thought that meant some level of trust, honesty. Thought that after everything that happened with Ultron, they had all agreed to be more honest, he’d been open with everyone about everything he was doing, thought he was supporting his team as much as he could.

 

But apparently all of this was in vain. Rogers would kill one team-mate to save another. Barnes needed more help than just running away, he needed to get help, there must be people somewhere who could help him break his programming, make him free again. Maybe something like BARF could help, he knew that the soldier wouldn’t trust him, didn’t blame him for that, but he needed, deserved, more help than what Rogers could give him. Barnes was a prisoner of war, had been for the past 70 years, he needed therapy, needed a chance to remember who he was, and work out who he is now.

 

It was too cold. He had pins and needles in his hands and feet, the power draining from the suit too quickly. Anything unnecessary had been turned off, and his suit heating would have killed the remaining power in about 5 minutes. All he had was FRIDAY’s quiet but slightly panicked voice in his ear, saying that help was on its way, to stay awake. He had tried to call Pepper, as soon as the soldiers left, but it had failed, he didn’t know where she was, and he was missing his chance to say goodbye yet again. He doubted that he could survive such a close brush with death again, he could already feel Her creeping hands over his body, as She claimed him, claimed his broken and weary limbs as her own, ready to aid his passage to the other side.

 

If, on the slightest off chance he did survive this, how would he carry on. He knew the dangers of frostbite, had studied it, wanting to make a suit that was safe to go to space with. He knew that his hands and feet were now going numb, a metal suit not much protection against the elements, and that the blood supply to them was quickly being cut off.

 

Severe frostbite could lead to gangrene and amputations.

 

How could he be Iron Man, or even Tony Stark, if he lost his hands. His whole life evolved around making things, creating, experimenting. That person would die today, even if he did get back home.

 

He lay on his back, stuck, exhausted, his suit powerless and a dead weight to him moving. But he couldn’t leave it. He was too tired, and the little protection it offered against the cold was better than nothing.

 

He vaguely thought he should put himself in the recovery position, at least then when he passed out he might be slightly safer. But attempting to move himself reminded him of the broken ribs Steve had left him with as a parting gift, that any extreme movement could leave him with a rib through his lung.

 

So he just lay, in pain both physical and emotional, wishing today had gone differently in any way. That the past few days had gone differently, that Rogers and his team had thought of what they were doing instead of just acting.

 

The numbness spread up his limbs, he tried to move his hands but didn’t know if they did, couldn’t feel them, couldn’t see them, could only see the snow falling and the concrete ceiling. Grey, white, black of the shadows. He wished for some colour as he died, didn’t he deserve something happy as he was dying, not just a greyscale room. Some of those flowers Pepper liked, a painting, something, anything.

 

What if no one ever found him.

 

What if his body remained here, forgotten, frozen, for years. What if he was just another of America’s missing. What if, like Rogers, someone spent years searching for a body, to put him to rest. Would anything be left of him after 70 years, his body decayed, a skeleton inside a metal suit.

 

Even he wouldn’t have left a man dying. He thought a soldier always made sure his enemy was dead, what part of Rogers thought it was fair to leave an injured enemy, or even teammate. How much was he hated to let him just die like this. He hoped for unconsciousness to take him soon, for death to be painless, but every breath hurt, the cold frozen air seeming to freeze him completely, inside and out. Any reprieve wouldn’t come. He knew there was no helping himself, he would try, try to stand up, or to even move, but it was impossible, no power in the suit, it was simply a dead weight.

 

There wasn’t even the power to self destruct the suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these chapters are getting shorter but I'm really struggling to get them out on time. 
> 
> I'm considering expanding on this chapter once Whumptober is over and making a fic from here, I think I struggle to write when there's multiple characters, whereas this style allows me to play around more with what a character is feeling, what do you think?


	10. Bruises

Being thrown around and attacked every night, wearing just his suit, tended to leave a fair few injuries. Some he could quite easily claim were due to clumsiness, he’d fallen at school, at home, knocked his head on a shelf. The ring of bruises surrounding his neck were much more difficult to pass off as an accident, anyone could see the finger marks, how they were in the shape of a hand.

 

He went to the shops the next day before school, his hoodie zipped up around his neck, and brought concealer. Told the shop attendant it was for theatre, that they were doing a play. Sat in a public bathroom, he worked out how to apply it, making sure all of the bruise was hidden, that it looked somewhat natural. During school he told people he felt ill, when he was really sweating, zipped up with his hoodie hiding his neck. The fake illness covered for his broken voice too.

 

He was glad Aunt May was working when he got home, he could hide in his room and not see anyone, and in patrol no one could even see under the suit. It still hurt though.

 

It wasn’t the first time he’d wandered around hiding bruises though.

 

When he was younger, before he was spiderman, the bullies hurt a lot more. He hid what they did to him from his aunt and uncle, persuaded them that he was trying to be trendy by wearing hoodies or long sleeve tops all the time. At least school bullies tend to leave bruises that were more easily hidden, punches to the arms, shoved into a locker so hard his side bruised, bruises on his legs from where they tripped him up. He slowly emptied his wardrobe of shorts, of vests, wearing clothes that instead covered the mishmash of purple green and yellow smattering his skin. Learnt how to hide his pain, to cover up a wince or intake of breath when he knocked a bruise, a scrape. Embraced his aunt’s hugs, his uncle’s playful shoves, refusing to make a noise when they knocked a not yet healed injury.

 

He tried to stay thankful, it was only bruises, it would heal, this was only temporary, pain was only temporary.

 

As he grew older, grew into his role as Spiderman, the bruises, the injuries only got worse. The enemies he was fighting grew stronger, he felt weaker in comparison, and some days feared for his life. Feared that he wouldn’t dodge the next bullet, couldn’t miss the next knife. Feared that someone else would get hurt because of his mistakes.

 

He needed to get stronger, train more, be better. Now he had the support of Mr Stark, he could build better suits, and be more help to his community. He had these powers, so he had to use them for good, use them to help stop people getting hurt, help people see the errors of their ways.

 

But he couldn’t always be there. Listening to the news on the way home from school, he could only punish himself, for everything he couldn’t prevent, everyone he couldn’t help.

 

Walking down the hallways, he seemed to notice more people’s injuries, the marks changing their skin, showing their stories.

An assortment of bruises from tripping, the girl well known for being clumsy, dyspraxia throwing her coordination out, she’d learnt not to care, laughed every time she fell, knowing her friends would be there to help her up again.

A boy, incredibly small for his age, bruised fingermarks peeking from underneath his t-shirt. Peter wrote an anonymous letter to a teacher, a few weeks later the boy left the school.

A limp, an arm in a cast, a black eye. A car accident, they were lucky to be alive. If Spiderman hadn’t been around they might have been in the car still when it blew up. A friend had painted their cast in a design similar to the SpiderSuit.


	11. Hypothermia

The trouble was, when you got superpowers, you thought you were invincible. Thought that everyday things couldn’t affect you anymore, that you were invincible. This wasn’t the case, which meant he was now sat, in Tony Starks penthouse, trying to stop hypothermia.

 

He’d been out, patrolling, not that there was much going on, with the winter’s first big storm taking place. Locals he’d passed, running to get to shelter, had been blaming Thor, he was on Earth at the moment and they wondered if he had caused this, caused this unusual storm to hit New York. It hadn’t stopped raining for days, and now lightning had started to strike across the sky, illuminating Spiderman as he sat, crouched, on buildings, or swinging up the streets to help protect people. Those who were out seemed to consist of those who had no choice, or those who wanted to prey on the vulnerable. He’d helped a few homeless people get to a shelter, spoken to people who were opening their doors to those who were vulnerable. Broke into an abandoned block of apartments, sending people stranded out on the streets to the shelter, knowing it must be better than what they were facing.

 

“Humans don’t like the cold kid, and spiders definitely don’t. You shouldn’t have been out in this weather.” ”They nee-eeded help though.” Peter said, teeth chattering.

“This is where you ask me Peter, ask me for a suit better suited for the cold, or ask me to go out and do your patrol.”

 

Peter had finally realised he was out of his depth when he started missing swings, crashing onto the floor, his limbs trembling, not wanting to hold his weight. He’d been ignoring Karen’s warnings for a while, ignoring her pleas for him to go home, her threats to call Tony. She sounded so dismayed when she had told him earlier, that his suit wasn’t build for this type of weather yet, that it wouldn’t do well in the cold and wet.

 

She’d dialled Tony for him, and made him make his way to his tower, although it was a slow progress, him being forced to simply walk, to try and keep himself awake.

 

“Karen where am I going? Why am I walking?” He became more and more confused, choosing to sit in an alleyway, arms wrapped around himself. “Why’m I going to th Towerr? I don’ need to see Tony t’night, m’fine.” His eyes started slowly blinking, seeming to want to fight against sleep but it was inevitable. He vaguely heard the sound of repulsors, of metal moving, opening and warm hands grabbing him, trying to lift him up. Vainly he batted them away, “M’fine Mr Stark.”

”Kid you’re not, c’mon spidey, we gotta get you to the tower. FRI, send a spare suit? I need to get him inside quickly.”

 

More repulsors signalled another suit, it opened and stood at attention next to its copy.

 

“Pete, its warmer in the suit, can you get in, let me help you, c’mon buddy, I’ve got you.” Somehow, Peter got into the suit, gentle heating thawing him, it closed around him and then followed Iron Man back to the tower, flying straight to the penthouse.

 

Peter was out of the spidersuit, it had been thrown in the bath, whilst Tony piled towels and blankets onto him, wrapping him up as he continued to shiver. Tony’s first instinct was to put him in the bath, but didn’t know how Peter would deal with that. And FRIDAY’s voice piped up saying a sudden shock to hot water could be dangerous.

”C’mon kiddo, lets get you somewhere else, need to warm you up slowly.” Tony planned to get him to a spare room, or a sofa or somewhere warmer than his bathroom. Peter stood up, his legs wobbling with tiredness, and Tony quickly decided any of the spare bedrooms would be too far away. They managed to get to Tony’s bed, before Peter slumped, his skin still too pale, too cold, his breathing too fast as he shivered. More blankets were gathered, a nest made, and Tony went to start rubbing Peter’s arms, trying to create any more warmth.

”Sir, don’t rub his arms. If someone has hypothermia, massaging their limbs can make it worse, and cause heart problems. I suggest seeing if he can drink something warm.”

 

“Okay buddy, cocoa time it is, the sugar should help too. FRI, can you keep an eye on him?”

Tony left Peter, making sure the door was left open between his bedroom and the small kitchenette, so he could hear his kid still, before quickly making some hot chocolate, cooling it down a little before taking it back to the kid.

 

“Can you hold it?”

 

Peter put up shaking hands, trying to grab the drink, wincing a little when he tipped it and liquid splashed onto his hands. Tony quickly grabbed it, supporting him, and helping him to take small sips.

 

"It's okay kiddo, I've got you, you'll be fine."


	12. Electrocution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …Well in my research for this I learnt that Electrocution technically means death by electric shock... so.. yeah.

There never seemed to just be a normal fight anymore. Each time he went out, someone had a new weapon, a new technique, each mugger, robber, criminal, he thought, had a different style, or no style, nothing could be predicted. Each night, he powered through, dealing with whatever he had to, defending himself in whatever way, even as it seemed as though enemies seemed to be seeking him out, a new group seemed to be rising, hell-bent on his destruction. Their weapons seemed random, without cause, almost as though they had a suspicion he was enhanced, or a mutant, and were trying to find a weakness.

 

He didn’t think he had one, thought he had managed to move through his weakness, it wasn’t as if one missing sense had caused him too much of a problem, all weaknesses could be overcome.

 

Yes, some days he missed being able to see, longed to be able to watch the sun set, to know truly what his friends looked like, what he even looked like. To remember truly what his father looked like, his impression now faded into just that, a sense of family, a voice, a story. A faint scent on an old boxing robe, pictures he couldn’t see and was too embarrassed to ask someone to describe to him again.

 

But overall, the freedom he gained, the ability to do what he can now do, was worth it. And Stick, for the pain he was put through during training, was worth it. He knew how to defend himself, how to fight, how to win a fight, and to never ever give up. Matt developing such a friendship with Foggy was completely against his trainings, he should be a fighter, no attachments, nothing to hold him back from a war. He should have been a perfect little soldier. Not a lawyer who went out every night dressed as the devil, set on helping the little people, not prepared to let himself come a little brainwashed soldier, firmly set under Stick’s control.

 

Each day the weapons got weirder, and the people using them were different, nothing identifiable. One day it was a quick acting hallucinogenic drug, obviously intended to work better on someone with vision. He staggered a bit, but could ultimately fight still, the sound of their heartbeats illuminating their exact position, stuttering in shock as they thought it would work, didn’t bring any other weapons, and so were quickly dropped to the ground. He made his way home after that, sleeping off the dizziness in his apartment.

 

Tonight he was patrolling again, listening to his city as the sun set, the last traces of warmth quickly disappearing. It was quiet, quieter than usual, the warmth seeming to make everyone calmer, or perhaps it was simply not many people were out yet, perhaps they were waiting for darkness to leave their houses, to antagonise the city.

 

A few hours later it picked up, he stopped a couple of muggings, teamed up with Spiderman to stop a smuggling ring moving a group of girls from a warehouse to a ship. Heading back towards Hell’s Kitchen, he heard the sudden noise of a commotion a few blocks over, two men loudly threatening a bar-owner, glass smashing. Fellow patrons just sitting and watching, their hearts beating in nervousness, the sound of scrabbling hands as they tried to steal from the till, stopping and looking towards him as he stood in the doorway, illuminated by the streetlight outside.

 

They missed with the first shot fired towards him, a bullet landing in the frame of the door. He kept moving, getting closer, dodging and weaving the shots, marvelling at why someone used a gun if they were so terrible at using it.

”Get out of here if you don’t want to get hurt!” He waved behind himself, trying to get the innocents out, out of this apparently random gunfire. “Crawl, these people are crazy!”

 

A bullet nearly grazed him, instead shattering a window, and he was thankful no one was outside, thankful that the majority of the patrons were out, the rest either frozen with fear, hidden under tables, or still crawling, towards the doorway or to what he assumed was the kitchen. As long as they were safe, out of the way of the gunfire, he needed to stop the two attackers.

 

“We-e’re not afraid of you Devil.” Shakily the man held the gun up, Matt now close enough that it was pointing straight at his chest, whilst his unarmed companion was shoving wads of cash into a bag.

 

“Oh really?” The Devil grinned, teeth showing, as he simply tilted his head, arms relaxed by his sides as he walked closer. “Why are you stealing from this fine establishment then?” Matt now had ended up right in front of the man, gun resting on his chest.

 

A finger, twitching over the trigger, a man who’d obviously never shot someone this close before, nervous, waiting as his companion bolted, Matt memorising his heartbeat, to track down later. This man in front of him was the main problem, the main fearmonger, which needed to be taught a lesson now.

 

The trigger was pushed down, and the gun simply clicked.

 

“You’re out of bullets pal.”

 

Now Matt grabbed the man under the chin, lifting him and pushing him against the bar. “Don’t threaten people in my city, I’ll be watching you. You’re a despicable person”, he spat, sounding intimidating, as he dropped the man back to the floor, “If you and your buddy don’t return that money, I will be finding you later, and teaching you a proper lesson.”

 

The man gulped, moving to get out of the room. Matt vaguely noticed people behind him getting out from their hiding places, he shouted out an all clear to those hidden behind the bar. Someone came up to him, he turned, unsure of whether to expect an attack, or a simple talk, perhaps a thanks. But instead something was pushed towards him, he vaguely smelt electric, a burning metal copper smell, and felt static.

And then pure whiteness. Pain, all encompassing, before it stopped.

 

He vaguely knew he was on the floor knelt down, but everything hurt. He was so confused, his senses were haywire, how many people were around him, what was happening. Voices came through as though shouted through glass, “He’s still up.”

 

Whiteness again, every nerve firing and being stopped at the same time, muscles spasming.

The relief as the whiteness faded to black, a sense of peace after the pain, as his body fell to the ground, limbs still shaking as a group of men joined the electrocuter.

The people in the pub he’d saved were long gone, threatened again by another group of thugs, although these all had guns, and had something capable of taking down Daredevil.

No one was there to watch as his helpless body was dragged outside and into a van, dumped carelessly onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
>  
> 
> He might be back though. There may or may not be a plan for this chapter to lead into a couple of others later on


	13. "Stay"

He’d always been a wild child, refused to let himself be trained by his parents, revelling in the freedom he had when it was just him and the staff in the house, when Howard wasn’t there to punish him for talking, for playing, for having a normal childhood.

 

His nanny was forever telling him to stay still, to stay quiet, to behave. He crafted himself a mask, a perfect poster boy, modelling this construct under Howard’s favourite, the Captain. Carried himself proudly, but calmly, doing whatever his father asked, building, expanding his knowledge. Making a name for himself, the Stark genius, a mind to rival his father’s. Howard didn’t like when the media said such things, blamed Tony, as if he was to blame for what drivel the media spouted.

”Stay still.” Edwin would say as he cleaned up another wound, a ring scratched across his face. He built up his walls, the small child Anthony being hidden away deep in his heart, ‘Tony’ quickly taking his place.

 

Tony grew out of the shell of his childhood, and his walls grew too. The person he was to the media, to everyone he met, was bold, brave, accomplished. At night he whispered to himself, to Anthony, the forgotten child, to just stay hidden, stay a secret. There would be a time for freedom too, people didn’t live forever, there would come a time when he could do what he wanted, build what he wanted. But for now, he had to do as his father said, build weapons, be his father’s weapon to expand SI.

 

When Tony went to boarding school, a little more of Anthony was shown. He met Rhodey at MIT, and their friendship was real, was true. He hoped they could stay together, Rhodey was a light in the darkness of the cage which had been built around Tony, bars of words, of expectations, trapping him, training him.

 

Rhodey was there when Tony got the news of his family’s death.

 

He stayed with him, as he let out years of hidden emotion, the sadness of losing his mother, of losing Edwin. The pure elation of freedom, his father was dead, he couldn’t be hurt any more by him. He was free. He didn’t have to stay as Tony anymore, didn’t have to stay a perfect little poster boy.

 

Tony didn’t realise that Stane could be as bad as his father.

Didn’t realise that he would still be controlled, that Obadiah would control SI for a few more years, until he turned 21, and then want to keep a hold on him and the company for the future.

 

Afghanistan happened, Yensin telling him to move on, to not stay trapped, another father figure ripped from him.

 

And then Stane betrayed him, ripping out his heart, leaving him dying. No choice but to stay.

 

It seemed as though Tony Stark was cursed, a future ahead of him of being controlled, of being sacrificed.

 

Of people he trusted, telling him to stay down, to just stay quiet and do as he was told. To listen to other people’s orders, to trust what they were saying was true and that it wouldn’t end up with him dying.

 

He only wanted to protect other people. Civil War, was unnecessary, and he should have never brought a child into it, didn’t think it would actually end up with a fight, hoped the kid’s innocence would make Rogers see reason.

 

“Stay down kid, you’re done.” Another mistake to add to his long list of failures.

 

And then he had no choice but to stay where he was, two super soldiers against his already worn suit and body. He stayed where he was, waiting, as the cold overtook his body.


	14. Torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW GRAPHIC TORTURE AND INJURIES  
> There are graphic descriptions of torture in here, please be careful
> 
> Carries on from chapter 12 electrocution, but could just about stand alone

He didn’t wake up for a long while. Stayed unconscious whilst his body was dragged from the van, dumped on a rough tarp, then carried, four silent men marching him through a brightly lit corridor, to what must have once been an operating room, but now seemed to be filled with weapons and tools obviously designed for torture. He was left on the floor, two men fighting to get his suit off as he simply lay unresponsive, unable to care as his mask was taken off, his identity revealed to the men, not that they recognised his face. Left in just a vest and boxers, they picked him up again, carrying him to the centre of the room.

 

Barely flinched as they dropped him on a table, restraints being wrapped over his wrists, arms, chest, a restraint placed over his forehead. He was roughly moved, and then his hips were bound to the table, further restraints pinning his legs and feet, immobilising him. An IV port was attached to his left arm, nothing pumped into him yet, although a couple of full syringes lay ready next to him as someone attached monitors to him.

 

“How long ago was he put out?” ”About an hour now, he should be round soon, we had to hit him with it twice though.”

“Twice? And he hasn’t stirred at all yet? Oh god.” The man sat next to the table, presumably someone with doctor’s training by the way he acted around Matt, stood up, grabbing a small torch out of his pocket. ”You checked his pulse and breathing and everything right? That weapon could kill someone, we didn’t want him dead, boss wanted him as a new toy.”

 

The doctor grabbed Matt’s wrist, checking his pulse, it was faint but still there, and they could see his chest rising, although it was stopped by the restraints, only allowing him small breaths. They shone a torch into his eyes, and his face furrowed in confusion and worry. He checked again, still no response, and he began to mutter under his breath, “Electrocution can cause nerve damage, I guess damage to the optic nerve, or to the occipital lobes.”

 

“You’ve blinded him, I told you, only use it on someone once, he must have at least been dazed from the first one, surely you could have just grabbed him then? He can’t have been putting up that much of a fight. You can explain to boss why his toy is now blind, he’s not going to be much of a fighter now.” ”It’s fine Doc, if he’s blind he won’t be able to reveal our identities, he’ll be easier to play with. Easier to scare.” ”I don’t know what other damage he will have, his hearing could be affected, but I need him awake to check that. And then you can start breaking him.”

 

Within half an hour, Matt began to awaken, slowly and with confusion at first, before he tried to bolt upright, the bonds stopping him from moving at all.

 

“Well hello our little Devil.” Everything was muffled, as though he was underwater, he couldn’t work out how many people were in the room with him, he couldn’t hear a heartbeat. A dull beeping came from somewhere near him, it seemed to speed up as he got more agitated. “My apologies, the men we sent to capture you seemed to forget themselves, your blindness is most likely permanent, and you are probably experiencing some deafness which may or may not fade.” The man, whose voice he heard before, seemed less than sincere in this so called apology, and Matt was filled with fear. He saw no way of being able to escape from here, he was well and truly blind, no world on fire to clue him in to where he was, no way to tell the time or how long he had been here for. And he’d successfully distanced himself from his friends, it would take them a while to realise he was missing. Time he didn’t think he’d have.

 

“Who are you, what do you want from me?” His blind eyes darted around the room trying to track anything, hating feeling so trapped, so helpless. The restraints they’d used were built for someone much stronger than him, and he knew he couldn’t waste his energy trying to break them, he’d break a bone before they’d even start to give.

 

“Well, we are, shall we say, part of a company who has become incredibly invested in your work, especially your skills. And our boss would like you to work for him, you would be a valuable asset to his team, could go on to do great things, if you’d get over your apparent fear of murder.” ”I’ll never work for you. You can’t make me.” Matt spat, trying to move, wanting, needing to attack, to escape, his hands clenching and unclenching, that and his feet being the only thing he could move freely.

”You doubt our powers Devil. We’ve broken men stronger than you before.” That simple phrase, the tone of knowledge, assurance, simply filled Matt with fear. He knew that he wouldn’t be leaving this place the same man he was dragged in as, the only way out would be death, or as a puppet. “I’ll be leaving you now, my colleagues will be in soon. I hope you’ll cooperate with them.” Matt was reminded of the comics he would read in school, before his sight was stolen from him, the grin of the villain as they looked on a trapped hero, stopped as the hero’s backup came to save the day. He wouldn’t be saved though. The man quickly shoved a gag into Matt’s mouth, wrapping it around his head and then down through gaps in the table, the pressure uncomfortable at first before becoming painful.

 

The heavy metal door clanged shut, usually this would be ideal for Matt, allow him to map out the room he was in. But now, it was useless, at least he could hear when people entered the room, but he had no idea if anyone was already in here. Or if someone slipped through as the first man left.

He lay, trying to plan an escape, trying to work out if there was any way he could get out. Eventually he gave up, and began reciting verses, or simply counting, not wanting to give into the fear that he knew would encompasse him. He needed, he wanted to be ready if someone came in, but knew that there was little he could do to stop an attack. He needed to, needed to… what could he even do. But wait.

 

Some time later, the door opened again, two, maybe three sets of feet walking through the door, dragging something on wheels with them.

 

“At least we don’t need to worry about masks with this bitch, the capture team managed to blind him. Not sure if he’ll still be able to fight though afterwards, don’t know if boss will be happy with him. Still kids, you can have a play, he’s a good practice for you, see what it takes to make him scream, then we can start training him. Remember, he’s not human, he’s an animal, a monster. Think of what he’s done to all these people.”

 

“Is he awake?” Matt flinched, the voice was young, too young to be doing this. A child, why were they forcing a child in here, what were these people doing. “He moved!” A child’s excitement, 14/15 years at most, at having a live victim.

“This is the man who hurt our father?” A slightly older voice, a girl, late teens. “This is who they call the devil? How pathetic.” Her voice sounded hollow, emotionless, uncaring, as opposed to her younger brother. They must be children of the mob, have grown up with the violence, it is their normal.

 

“He’s awake, and yes, its the one they call Daredevil. The capture team injured him when they brought him in, he can’t see at all and he can’t hear very well, if you move too suddenly you might startle him, we wouldn’t want that, would we my pretties.” The man had moved closer, and gently ran a hand down Matt’s arm, making him flinch, and struggle, hand clawed and trying to grab at anyone as he tried to talk through the gag. “You’ve got all your toys, now draw me a pretty picture, this is your canvas. Be careful with his face though, we still need him to be recognizable for next week. And don’t call each other by your names.”

 

The adult moved to a corner of the room, sitting in silence as though to simply watch his own, throughout the time murmuring an agreement, but for the most, allowing them the silence to work out their anger.

 

“I always wanted to be an artist.” The older girl spoke softly, picking up and comparing blades they’d been left with. “Kiddo, what do you want to do? Carving? Or just fancy getting some anger out, I’m sure his ribs would break quite nicely, practice some of your boxing or just use anything to hit him. Make some nice bruises.”

 

“He needs to pay. He’s killing our father even now. He deserves more pain than what our father went through, break his ribs, then he might understand the pain dad felt as he lay unable to breathe.”

 

Matt tried to listen, to hear around the room, to work out where they were. He didn’t expect the hit to the ribs until it came, and then it was relentless, the kid, although young, had been trained, knew what he was doing. Constant, pounding, over and over and over and over, the same spot, the speed changing, he couldn’t guess it, flinched everytime. The boy panted, anger in his voice, as he chanted, “This is for my father, this is for my uncle, this is for my brother. This is for the mob, this is for my boss, this is for my family. This is for us.” The punches sped up, somehow became more powerful, fuelled by anger. “You don’t get to hurt us anymore. You coward, hiding behind a mask. You deserve pain.”

 

He groaned through the gag as the girl made a cut into his right arm, carving small lines, shapes, larger slashes. Tracing a pattern up and down his arm, he tensed, wishing he could grab her, talk to her, persuade her. “Stay still devil man.” She whispered, cutting more and more, soft and gentle, then harsh and angry, until his arm was covered in blood, dripping to the floor, a red wave of pain. “This is nothing compared to what you’ve done to others.”

 

The boy switched weapons, a heavy bar pounding onto his chest as the girl continued to carve his body. The pain was blinding, his arm on fire, chest throbbing with pain. He was feeling woozy, blood loss, pain, and anger, and winced as the first rib broke, cracking with pain. The boy seemed pleased and confused, lowering his weapon as he ran a hand over Matt’s chest, feeling the brokenness, before continuing.

 

Matt blacked out after the third rib broke.


	15. Manhandling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carries on from chapter 9, Stranded, but could just about stand alone

As Vision landed in the cold of the Hydra base, he struggled to see his teammate, his creator, looking for the sight of red against the snow. He had coordinates from FRIDAY, before she went offline, and hovered, looking for anything, looking for a heat source, something out of place. As he flew past covered windows, he saw blue, the Captain’s shield, and next to it, a suited hand, Tony.

 

The suit was covered in snow, as he got closer, he saw that the helmet had been ripped off, and the arc reactor wasn’t glowing, a harsh line through it destroying it. If he were human he would have cursed at the sight, his creator, laying unmoving in the snow, instead he just calculated what needed to be done. Kneeling down next to him, he noticed just how weak Tony’s breathing was, each breath a struggle, he knew he needed help fast else he wouldn’t make it.

”I’m sorry Mr Stark. I have no choice, the jet is too far out.” Vision scooped his arms underneath Tony, quickly picking him and and carrying him, trying to shelter his face from the cold as they began to fly, back in the direction they had come, where a jet piloted by FRIDAY was moving towards them, the AI as worried as Vision, and with a medical team on board, prepared for the worst after FRIDAY’s alert had reached them. Tony didn’t even make a noise, the movement must had caused him pain, being manhandled like that, with broken ribs. It just showed how injured he was, how much he needed help, and now.

 

He missed hearing his creator’s snark, the quips and comments he made. It seemed unnatural, wrong, for him to be this quiet, to be so unmoving, so helpless. And to know that the Captain was the one to cause this, filled Vision with what he could only call rage, or anger. But his priority now was to help Tony, to get him to a medical team, to undo as much of this damage as possible. Although with the length of time he’d been abandoned in the cold for, he didn’t know how much damage would be lasting.

 

They had to fly for a while, Vision mentally apologising for the pain he must be causing, thankful that Tony was unconscious, and unaware of what was happening.

 

He flew as fast as possible, to get Tony to safety quickly, but also taking care to not cause further damage. They wouldn’t know just how badly he was injured until he got to the jet and the suit was taken off. He would have to be warmed up slowly, to prevent more strain on his heart, and would need a high level of care. Thankfully, as a billionaire, he would have no troubles receiving the best care possible, and already had a fully vetted team at his disposal at the compound, for the use of the Avengers.

 

Not that half of them would ever be using it, not with the way they had treated their once-teammates.

 

As they flew, a dot on the horizon grew larger, the quinjet, no marks on it to show who it belonged to, a plain black ship, although inside, it was clearly owned by Tony Stark, inbuilt AI, medical facilities for treatment whilst in the air. It had already changed direction, heading back to the compound, as Vision caught up to it, the ramp lowering as they got closer, Vision gracefully landing inside as the ramp closed, placing Tony on the floor, next to a waiting stretcher.

”FRIDAY, how can we get him out of the suit?” One of the med team questioned, hands running over the damaged metal, looking for some sort of release, needing to get to her patient.

 

“It needs power. Remove the arc reactor and hook up electrics instead, it is damaged beyond repair and the suit is powerless.” The team quickly moved to work, not liking the way Tony wasn’t even shivering. Soon the suit was released, leaving him in just an undersuit, which they quickly cut away, before gently lifting him onto the gurney, shared faces of panic over the blueness covering his hands and feet. He was moved into their medbay, blankets placed over his legs, his arms, trying to slowly warm him up, to bring him back from the brink of death. An oxygen mask was placed over his mouth and nose, his heartbeat checked, breathing checked.

”He’s fighting, we need more equipment though. We can improve his chances as much as possible on here, but he might need surgery, he’s got broken ribs and I’m not sure how close they are to piercing a lung. I’m worried about his hands and feet, he’s got severe frostbite, we need to get this room warmed up quickly, and when we touch down get some warm water going, else we’re going to risk losing them to gangrene.”

 

“Flying you to the compound as quick as possible ma’am.” Friday chirped up, her voice sounding as worried as an AI can. “ETA three hours.”

 

In the time they had to wait, the team paced restlessly, trying to warm their patient, keeping an eye on his condition, carrying out what scans they could to make it easier once they touched down. They were thankful for Stark’s enthusiasm, it meant that his medbay was fully stocked up with nearly everything they would need, miniature X-Rays which meant they could check his ribs, and wrap them for now, happy that they weren’t misaligned. All the medication they could need, meaning they could sedate him, give him painkillers, to stop him from waking up whilst in the air, and keep the pain at bay. If he awoke he could panic, and cause more damage to his chest and heart.

 

The time went by stressfully, his condition didn’t change, and they soon touched down at the compound, racing out of the quinjet as soon as the ramp lowered, and straight to the private med bay, where they began working on warming his limbs to prevent further damage, hoping that they got to him fast enough to save them.


	16. Bedridden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not a doctor, lots of hand-waving medical stuff so forgive me, didn't want to go into too much detail of what happens in here but there's enough for us to all get the idea hopefully? Let me know if something needs clarification

“Rhodes? Wha-”

 

“Shhh, shh Tony, it’s okay, you’re fine. You’re in the compound, you were pretty badly hurt, you’ve been asleep for a while. Try not to move too much, you’re pretty hurt buddy.” Rhodey was sat in a wheelchair to the right of Tony, where his arm sat above the covers, an IV connected to the back of his bandaged hand, pumping in painkillers and a mild sedative, to keep the billionaire calm. He’d woken up a couple of times, disorientated and confused, and become combative, refusing to acknowledge the facts from doctors, strangers.

”I feel so rough, can I have some water?” He groaned, moving to sit up, before Rhodey pressed a button and the bed simply moved, sitting him in place. Rhodey passed him a bottle of water, supporting it, Tony looking simply too weak to do it himself.

”Tones? I’ve got something you need to know.”

“What is it? Who is it, who’s hurt, what do they need-” ”It’s you Tony. Hey, hey, look at me, don’t panic.” Rhodey picked up Tony’s hand, clasping his over it, holding it securely. “You were in the cold for a long time, too long. They did everything they could, but, they had to amputate.”

 

A look of panic flashed through Tony’s face, and he tried to pull the covers off himself, lifting his left hand and just looking at it in shock.

”Oh. No. No no no no. What else Rhodey, what else. Nothing else?” ”Your left foot, and a couple of toes on your right were damaged beyond use, they would have caused too much pain. And your little finger on your right hand.”

 

“Okay, okay, okay. Breathe Tony.” The man spoke to himself, looking at his arms, his left now cut short midway between his elbow and where his wrist once was. And his right, looking normal under the bandage, but knowing it was missing, damaged. “My foot?” ”They saved as much as they could, your left was amputated just above the ankle, you can easily get a prosthetic and live normally. Tones, I know you, this won’t stop you. You’re a genius, you can easily invent a new hand, this isn’t the end. You’re a fighter, we all know this.” ”Yeah, I just, I think I just need time to process. How long was I out for?” ”Vision rescued you from Siberia a week ago. Your operation was two days ago, they thought they’d be able to save everything, but you were in the cold for too long. It took the team 5 hours to fly to you, luckily they had access to a quinjet, commercially it can take up to 19 hours to get to Siberia from the compound, and Vision flew ahead to find you. You were blue by the time they got you on the ship, and barely breathing, FRIDAY had to help us open the suit as it was completely powerless, your arc reactor destroyed.” ”The suit, you brought it back right?” ”Yeah, its down in your lab, Vision went back to Siberia with a small jet to get your helmet and the shield, didn’t want to leave them there for anyone else to find.”

“Good, good. Where are the Rogues?”

“Hiding in Wakanda, T’Challa has opened communication with us in regards to the Accords, they’re hopefully going to be able to help Barnes, Roger’s doesn’t seem happy with it but Barnes needs help, wants the help, so he’s not a threat.” ”Good. It wasn’t his help, I just reacted, I shouldn’t have, but I ended up worse for it.” Tony rubbed his bandaged hand over his face, wincing as the IV lined caught around his elbow, before shaking it to release it. ”Can you recover the footage? FRIDAY tried to, but it was locked down.” ”Yeah, if the reactor’s destroyed everything gets locked down, I can get into it once I can get to my lab-” ”Which won’t be for a good while Tones. Bed rest. For at least a week, and then physical therapy for a long while after. You need to sort yourself first. T’Challa and I want to see that footage though, to work out what happened, see where we can go from here, and help you.”

“I’ll be fine Rhodes, if I can get a tablet in here I might be able to unlock it remotely, and then I want to carry on with your braces, get you walking again, so you can push me around for a while. Or we could just settle for annoying the nurses with wheelchair races, pushing ourselves….” He trailed off, looking down at his left arm. “…Or not. How do people do it Rhodes? How do they just keep going when this happens, I just want to curl up and forget about everything.”

“Tones, god, I don’t know. Okay, we go to war, we fight, to protect our people, and we know we might not come back the same. It never prepares you to what could happen though, how an injury can affect you. We’re only human. But you and I, we’ve gotten through worse, we can get through this, no matter what Tones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ahead finally for writing, so we might get some previews on my tumblr, come check it out in the end notes, come chat to me, I don't bite promise! Or chat to me in the comments!! <3


	17. Drugging

He woke up, pain flooding his senses, confusion swiftly followed by fear as he attempted to sit up, being stopped again by the restraints. His hearing hadn’t returned still, it must be permanent, how much time had passed, what had happened. Forcing himself to breath slower, every breath causing a bite from shattered ribs, caused him to remember the first round of pain, the children, trainee torturers. He couldn’t hear anything, didn’t know if his hearing had deteriorated further, or if he was simply alone. Or if the people in the room were purposefully being silent, hiding from him. Flexing his hands, he broke a seal of dried blood, causing wounds to reopen and blood to chase down his right hand to the floor, his left hand apparently remaining untouched. The pain blossomed from the right side of his ribs, spreading across his chest, as he swallowed around the gag he recognised pain around his throat, a sign of being strangled. His throat felt dry, he hadn’t drunk anything or eaten since he’d been captured, and he didn’t even know how long he had been captured for, it could be days by now.

 

A cough broke his attention, and he tried to look in their direction, straining to try and hear how many people were in the room with him, tried to hear anything over the beep of the machines.

 

“You’re awake then young one. Did you enjoy spending time with the children? They’re so innocent aren’t they, so pure and simple. Such a shame someone like you had to ruin their lives, take away their father figure. Such a shame he’s dying in hospital now, because you got involved with our gang, caused him to be hit by friendly fire because they were trying to stop you, trying to protect their own.” The voice got nearer, filling Matt with a the pure sense of fear, he recognised them as the first man, the one he thought acted like a doctor, had some knowledge of the body, knew that Matt had been blinded, but didn’t recognise it as an old injury. “I’ve got some things I’d like to test on you, if you don’t mind?” He waited, almost expecting a response. “Oh, you don’t? Very good then. I doubt a hallucinogenic would work too well on you now you’re blind, but perhaps my new stimulant would be interesting. How long can we keep you awake for, before you go crazy and beg for us to stop this, agree to do anything we want you to do?”

 

He felt his hand grabbed, noticed the plastic of the doctor’s gloves, before a coldness began to spread up his arm, spreading over his body. A little time passed, before he noticed his heart was beating faster, he felt himself wanting to breath faster, and deeper, even though that was restricted by the restraints. A feeling of euphoria broke through the fear, leaving him simply laughing, accepting his fate and becoming hysterical in the face of it. The doctor left him alone in this room, after setting up an automatic dispenser for the stimulant, letting it drip constantly, slowly into his IV port, “No sense in giving him something to monitor time by,” and removing his gag, wanting to watch the full show.

 

Time passed, Matt stuck in this constant euphoria, and also panic, knowing his heart was too fast, his breathing too fast. As the days went on, he didn’t care of the state he was in, he hadn’t eaten the whole time he was captive, soon he began to look malnourished. He recalled someone coming in to tighten the restraints, he simply laughed at them, too weak to attempt to move, too high to even consider it. He felt too hot, was sweating, too hot, wanted to get out of his skin. “I’m so happy, why am I so happy? What is it with this place, I can’t remember, why am I here again?”

 

Those watching him looked on in fear from outside as he spent 6 days just laughing, his voice going hoarse, before he simply sat there and smiled, not caring about the world, talking to himself in a croaky voice.

 

Days blurred into one, until the drugs stopped.

 

And then the withdrawal began, but he still found himself unable to sleep, insomnia taking away any peace. He became jittery, hands and feet constantly twitching, and it was always too cold, too too cold. There must be people watching him, he started to ask for help, beg for the end to the pain, or for someone to give him the drugs again.

 

Why were all the people in here ignoring him? He knew they were there, saw the shadows surrounding him, shadow men, here to get him.

 

It was so peaceful, he couldn’t hear anything, see anything, the dull beeping faded to the background along with everything else. The restraints weren’t even that bad anymore, he didn’t fancy going anywhere, what was the point?

 

He was so tired. “’m not gonna go anywhere no more, whas the point.” His voice was slurring, slowing, and he noticed the beeping had slowed too, “Ev-ryone hates me -nyway.”

 

He barely noticed as the door opened, but looked around as the sound of footsteps came closer. ”Who’s there? I don’ wanna be here, why won’ you just lemme go. Is tha’ you doc?”

”Oh my devil, are you finally broken? You’re such a chatterbox aren’t you, shame, we prefer our projects to be silent.”

”’m not your project doc. ‘m no ones project, humans can’t be owned, thas illegal doc.”

”Oh of course, but my devil’s not human anymore is he? Obviously he’s not valued by the people who claim to love him, no one even cares about you anymore. They don’t want you.”

“They don’t? Why don’ they doc.”

”Obviously they’ve realised just how worthless you are, but its fine, we want you, we’ll look after you, you’re safe here. Let’s get you a little fixed up, you haven’t been looking after yourself very well have you? Hey, when you wake up it’ll be all better, have a sleep now.”

”Don’ wanna doc, not with all these shadows.” Matt didn’t even flinch as a different drug was pumped into the port, his senses and clarity completely dulled, struggling to make sense of the world, the doctor was right, he’d been here so long, and no one even cared. He quickly slipped into unconsciousness, welcoming the sweet embrace of sleep.

”When you wake up you’ll be perfect. Blind, mute, and nearly deaf. And with a smart little tracker meaning we’ll never lose you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have to expand on this whole ficlet being created after whumptober, Matt's kidnapping is taking up to 6 chapters of this, and I'd love to have more time to explore and edit. Keep a look out for more in the future!


	18. Hostage

He blinked into awareness, vaguely realising he had been moved, he was sat up now, tied to a chair, heavy ropes and chains trapping him. His shirt had been removed, and he knew his chest must be covered in bruises. Unless it had been long enough they had faded? Time wasn’t known anymore, he didn’t know how long he’d been drugged for, how long he’d spent laughing and awake, and how long he’d been drugged asleep, as the last of the stimulant worked its way out of his system.

Against the chair and bonds, he could feel how skinny he’d gotten. His bones knocked together when he attempted to move, and he tried to catalogue his injuries, even though his senses were shot to hell, he was well and truly blind now. His ribs, hurt if he tried to breath deeply, from being shattered and also restricted for so long. Right arm must be covered in the patterns of a child, scratches and scars, too precise to be caused by anything natural. Hearing, still abysmal, he refused to accept it was permanent, he couldn’t hear his injuries, or even hear the sound of chains chinking as he struggled, only knowing they were there by the coldness and shape of them on his bare skin. His neck itched, he wanted nothing more than to scratch at it, and settled instead for just trying to move his head and ease it, he couldn’t work out why it felt so wrong. As footfall made its way towards him he remained silent, waiting to work out who was there.

 

“Ah, my friend, you are awake. I’ve luckily been selected as the person to help you through this, show your face to the public, now you’re truly our trophy. We wish to showcase our newest prize, you can’t be used for hunting because of your injuries, so you’re going to be our little pet. Or we will release you and see how long you last for, we haven’t had that fun for a while. It’s okay though, you’ll always be safe. See this here?” The doctor glided a hand over the back of Matt’s neck, highlighting a small scar. “Well, feel it I guess, my poor child. This is a tracker, we’ll always be able to find you.”

”-” Matt tried to speak, to question the doctor, stopping quickly as nothing came out but air, “-”

“Oh yes, you didn’t realise? We couldn’t have you revealing anything if you did escape, so me and my team used you to test a new procedure. It was successful, we’ve managed to damage your vocal cords in such a way that you’ll never be able to speak again, and we left barely a scar in doing so. You’re perfect now. Blind and mute, so our secrets will be safe. And just deaf enough that you can only hear what we want you to.”

 

“Now for our show. We need to use you, get some money back for the work we did on you. We might have to release you for a little while my pet, but we’ll get you back safe with us soon enough.” The doctor stood behind Matt, placing the cowl of his costume on the devil’s head. “You’ve got an easy part in this act, simply sit there, and I’ll do all the talking, not that there’s much for you to do anyway, my perfect little pet.”

 

“You gave us such a challenge you know, I honestly thought we’d have to go back to more torture, I quite like sensory deprivation, but it seems as though my team took that from me before you were even brought in.”

 

The doctor moved, reaching behind Matt to undo something, allowing his bonds to fall the to floor. He startled, going to stand up, to fight, to protect himself, but his limbs were weak and weary, too long spent immobile. Staggering, he made it to a wall, dragging himself along it as the doctor chuckled. ”I also forget to mention, that sweet little tracker? It’s also a tool for us to look after you.” A button was pressed, and Matt felt a warming sensation, before tracks of electric flooded his system, his brain going into a panic, as he began to hyperventilate, remembering the torture and pain he felt when he was captured. “Now, we don’t want to have to use that again, so you behave for us now, and everything will be okay young devil.” Rough hands grabbed at Matt as his tremors stilled, lifting him and depositing him back in the chair, his fight gone, his limbs feeling weak again. He recognised fully now the gnawing of hunger, and wondered if he’d ever be fed, or if they were looking to kill him through starvation. They’d done too much to him to kill him off though, why put all this time and effort in and just let him die? They valued him for something, what was he doing wrong to not be fed?

 

“We’re up young one, we need to film you, let the public know our demands. Although I’m not sure if they will value you enough to pay them.” Matt’s chin was grabbed and moved sharply, pointing towards where there must be another person, not that he could hear or see anyone else, could only know someone was there when they touched him or spoke to him.

 

Around the city, TVs were hijacked as the gang took over the signal tower, broadcasting their message to thousands. Two figures were seen on screen, in a darkened room, one sat, whilst the other stood behind them. The sat figure was obviously maltreated, bruises littering his chest, scars covering his arm and spreading over the rest of his body. As his chin was lifted, the mask he wore was clearly shown, the red horns of Daredevil. The stood figure began to talk. Issuing demands, safety for his men, money, escape out of the country, in return for Daredevil’s release.

 

The news outlets were in an uproar, discussing who had their vigilante, how had he been captured, was this the real Daredevil?

 

A mug dropped to the floor, as Foggy looked at the television in shock, not knowing what to do, but recognising his partner, panic and fear surrounding him. What was he supposed to do, how could he rescue Matt?


	19. Exhausted

It had been too long since that broadcast, too long spent searching. Foggy had exhausted all his contacts, exhausted himself, all his leads in attempting to find where it was sent from, he didn’t have what he needed to supply their demands. In a last ditch attempt, 3 days after it was posted, and with no one else apparently doing anything, he tried to reach out to the Avengers, or at least Tony Stark. He knew doing so would probably reveal Matt’s identity, but he needed him home safe, he couldn’t find him with what he had. Stark at least had the money for Matt’s keepers to believe the proposed trade, and definitely had the firepower to find Matt if they didn’t.

 

A nervous phone call, time spent bouncing between different departments, until he was granted a meeting with one of Stark’s assistants, a young lad by the name of Parker. An hour spent bouncing ideas with him, reasoning with him over why he needed Stark’s help, and yes he couldn’t pay him but this was his best friend, and one of the heroes of Hell’s Kitchen, who was missing. The lad seemed invested in the case, and apparently had already taken an interest in it, attempting to track it himself although coming up short, much to his frustration. Foggy was soon transferred to another conference room, where Stark came to meet him, bouncing straight into work and activity. ”I saw the broadcast, I’ve been trying to track it but they seem to have pre-recorded it, and then released it from a radio tower, they could be anywhere in the city, or even out of the city. Do you know when he was taken, where he was taken from?” ”We had, a slight falling out, after he revealed his identity. We haven’t been talking properly for while, I just thought he was laying low, giving me the silent treatment.” ”How long since you last knew he was safe?” ”2/3 weeks maybe? I last saw him 4 weeks ago in person, but I’d heard of him out defending people after that. He went quiet about 3 weeks ago.”

 

“So he’s been there for at least 2 weeks. You know he’s not going to be in a good shape, I could work out the timestamp for that video, it was recorded a week ago, I don’t know what state he’ll be in now. I’ve had JARVIS scanning for suspicious activity and buildings, we’ve got no leads on where it is based on the video, a non-descript background, and they used a voice modulator to disguise the captor’s voice. I’m working on undoing that too, hopefully it could give us a lead.” Foggy simply nodded, the severity of the situation hitting him, that it wouldn’t even be that easy to find him now, even Tony Stark was struggling. “We’ll find him Mr Nelson. I scoured city records but I couldn’t find any missing person’s matching his description, I’m taking it no one knows he’s missing, he’s got no one else apart from you looking out for him? No one’s reported him missing.” ”He’s got no family, he’s self employed, only has me and a couple of other friend’s who all fell out with him, he kept it hidden from us for years, what he was doing. He didn’t seem like the sort of person to be a vigilante, it shook us all, and I regret that, I would have noticed sooner that he was taken, could have done something about it before.”

 

“Who even is he? We can’t match his image, he’s lost too much weight to be recognisable, he didn’t speak so that couldn’t be matched, is he a client or friend of yours? We looked you up when you tried to book a meeting, you’ve got very few links with Daredevil.” ”He’s my friend, ex business partner, Matt Murdock.” ”Isn’t he blind? You put Wilson Fisk away together, he’s blind, or very good at acting blind.” Tony brought up holograms, all the information publicly known about Matt, at the forefront the newspaper article from when he was 9. “’Childhood hero blinded. Chemical spill has left local hero Matt Murdock blinded after saving a stranger’s life.”

”I had the same reaction when I found out, although he was dying in a pool of his own blood, that’s the reason we haven’t really spoken for a while, I needed some time to take it in. He described it to me as his other senses are turned way up, and to get around he uses something similar to echolocation. He can hear a heartbeat from blocks away, can hear people lie, I think its what helps him be so convincing in court, and why he’s always so picky about people we defend.”

 

“Okay, devil vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen is a blind catholic lawyer. You know I didn’t expect that.” Tony started fiddling with a tablet, typing up something, whilst listening and nodding to what Foggy was saying. ”Yeah his identity’s pretty safe, I have to admit. Except when he ends up unconscious in a dumpster and me or his nurse have to dig him out. I’ve done it twice since he told me, getting phone calls in the early hours of the morning because he’s concussed and lost and his nurse is out of town. Poor woman. He doesn’t appreciate her enough, she works too much at the hospital as it is, and then ends up being on his beck and call all the time.”

 

“He’s a small town vigilante, if after all of this he’s still fighting fit, there’s a fully decked out med ward here, no identities revealed, masks can stay on. I pay a team to be here all the time, Spiderman uses them fairly often, and Deadpool’s dropped in a couple of times, only to chase up Spidey though, we try to keep them apart. They’re there mostly for Avenger’s but your partner does good work for the city, and if we can save this poor nurse from his constant injuries that must be a good thing. Or if he’s as stubborn as I’m imagining, from what you’ve said, she can use our supplies, help her out a bit.” ”M’hmmm. Mr Stark, I hate to be rude, but is this chatter getting us anywhere?” Foggy burst out, his anxiety mounting. ”JARVIS has been using the data you’ve added to scan for anything else suspicious, he’s been scanning for a while. Sorry I know how stressful this is, tell me when I start rambling again. Spiderman has been looking as much as possible, currently it doesn’t seem like technology can get us anywhere, not with them being clever enough in their recording. They used a brand new camera, prerecorded it, went to a radio tower, and released the video there a week later. Even if their base was near the tower he could have been moved by now. We’re listening out on the dark webs, well JARVIS is, for any talk of a devil, Daredevil, Matt, anything that could lead us to him, anything related. I’m writing something up now asking to meet them with some money, we’ll be able to rescue Matt and capture them too, I’d hoped we could just break in and take them by surprise, but they’re surprisingly good, someone somewhere has the money and the skills to fully hide them all.”

“What can I do?”

“Wait?” Tony looked at Foggy, noticing that broken look in his eyes. “I know, its tough. I’m sorry, there’s not much we can do. We’ve got to wait for them to contact us again, arrange a meeting place, I’ve posted a plea, an offer, in as many places as I can, they should be looking for it. Hey, he’s been missing for 3 weeks, he’s going to be in a rough state when he gets back. Go to his apartment, sort it out for him. Don’t report him missing to the police, if you do they’ll get involved and then his identity could be out. Have you told anyone else yet? Who else knows his identity?”

”His ex-girlfriend, and his nurse know, they’ll have seen the news.”

”Okay, go home, ring them. I’ll give you my number, I’ll call you as soon as there’s any development. Look after yourself, we’ll need to look after him when he gets back.”

The walk back to Matt’s went by in a blur, before he knew it he was finding his spare key, letting himself into the apartment. Pristine as usual, everything where it belonged. If it wasn’t for the musty smell of disuse, and the reek of gone-off milk, it would be as though Matt had just stepped out for some air, that he wasn’t missing. He rang Karen, and they sobbed and talked on the phone for hours, confused, alone, wishing there was something more to do. He found Claire’s number, Matt’s normal phone with her number saved abandoned on the side, and she felt so guilty, she should have noticed he was missing, not just getting better at staying safe.

For hours and hours he cleaned, throwing out food, freshening the place. He stayed awake all night, in the morning he rang Matt’s landlord, spun a story about Matt having to suddenly go out of the country, family emergency, he’d been out of contact all this time, had asked Foggy to check on the apartment and pay rent on his behalf.

For days and days he couldn’t sleep, watching his phone, waiting for a call, for the name Stark to flash up on his screen.

He flitted between staying at his own apartment and crashing on the sofa at Matt’s, a bottle of beer clutched in his hand, before hiding his sadness, exhaustion and frustration in time to go to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, guess who is stealing loads of parts of this work and making a fic out of it later.... This can be read as part of the same series as Tony post-Siberia, and will eventually end that way once I consolidate this into a proper fic, or it can be separate. Its taking place post Civil War, but somehow JARVIS is still around, I know, but I need Vision too to rescue Tony.... hmmmmm plot holes, hello. I will fix that later then should this idea actually happen


	20. Concussion

“No! Devil, you fucking behave, you listen to me? We’re trying to help you, make you worth our time to keep, you need to relearn how to fight you fucking idiot. Come on, hit me.” Matt swayed on his feet, still starving, still too skinny, not being able to even track where his new trainer was. He swung into thin air, hoping to collide with anything. “You never failed at this before, the oh so powerful, dangerous Daredevil, devil of Hell’s Kitchen, can’t even land a punch anymore.” The man laughed, spitting his words as he circled Matt, the latter’s head twitching as he tried to track his trainer, frustration in his face, wanting, needing to hear better, his tracking completely off.

 

An impossible fight, reaching for something he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, could barely even track. ”I knew you were too broken to be any use to us. Boss thought there was some saving for you, that you’d be useful to us for a bit, whilst we wait to see if anyone even cares for you. You were supposed to be our chance to get out of here, to get money, a chance to get out before Hell’s Kitchen dies.” The trainer grabbed Matt by the neck of his top, pulling him to face him. “You’re worthless to me Devil, you can’t fight, their experiments have left you useless. If I had my way, I’d just release you, see how long you live for. But apparently they want to keep a hold of you, someone has gained some sort of attachment to you. You’re just going to be a trophy, they’re hoping for money for you, but they’re going to betray whoever chooses to pay for your release.”

 

Matt tried to grapple with the trainer, but his hands were seized, held together easily with one hand, whilst he was pushed to his knees, his voice stolen from him, preventing him from shouting out in pain. ”You’re weak, useless. I don’t understand how people ever looked to you for help.” He knew he was weak, knew of everything that had been stolen from him, his hearing, his voice, his strength. His freedom. He knew he’d been recorded, that they were hoping to get money for him, that he was their hostage, their experiment, their project. But he didn’t have anyone who would care enough to pay what they were asking, or be able to afford that. The man began to rain blows down on Matt’s body, leaving red marks, holding the weak man down to the ground.

 

“They’re wasting my time trying to get me to train you here. All you’re good for is a punching bag.” Using some rope, the man tied Matt’s hands together, looping it over a beam in the room and securing it, leaving Matt stood in the middle of the room. Unable to support his own weight, exhausted and starved, he sagged into the pull of the rope, leaning forward, defeated, his head hanging. He knew from experience, disobeying meant he would be shocked, and the trainer was fairly trigger happy as it was, any fight he attempted to give now would only result in more and more pain, unconsciousness, long term injury. Each time he was shocked, the tremors seemed to last longer afterwards.

 

His best bet for now was cooperation, perhaps, maybe, someone out there was looking for him, would rescue him. Or he could somehow gain enough strength, somehow escape this place on his own. But the tracker. How could he get to someone to get them to remove the tracker, without this gang capturing him again first.

 

As the blows reigned down on his chest, Matt had zoned out, not wanting to pay attention to what was happening. The pain seemed to cover his entire body, radiating from red spots where the hits were focused, a kaleidoscope of bruises forming. He could absently hear the man getting angry and angrier, the punches moving higher up his body, until his face started to get bloody, he spat a tooth to the floor, starting to focus on what was happening to him more, tasting the well of blood forming in his mouth. As the hits continued to his head, he began to feel spacey, a headache forming. His legs were kicked from under him, leaving him with his knees bent, all his weight held by his hands, the strain on them from the rope steadily increasing, rubbing them raw as he was knocked around.

 

“Fuck you Devil, fuck what you’ve done to this community. You think you’re saving us, but you don’t stop to ask what is happening, you’ve never thought about what we really need. Which isn’t for you to leave us, leave our family’s and friend’s nearly dead, because they’d been forced to turn to crime to survive, in this city what else are we supposed to do to look after our kids?”

 

Matt, incredibly dazed by now, head spinning, barely noticed as the man picked up a knife, reaching above to cut the rope. Battered and bruised, Matt simply fell to the floor, his head bouncing off the floor, before he lay there, limp and powerless. Unconscious, he was quickly moved by the trainer back to what they called his room, his cell.

When he awoke, he was confused, alone again, in the same room he was always left in. He felt ill, and turned as he vomited into empty space, a headache pulsing in his skull. His movements felt sluggish and as though the room was spinning, any sense of balance he may have had completely gone. A concussion, he realised.


	21. Harsh Climate

The sirens could be heard from miles away, 2, 3, 4 fire engines, police cars, ambulances. A plume of smoke, spreading to cover 5 blocks each way, a dangerous cloud of death. The source, the battery factory, home to thousands of employees, surrounded by residential areas. Occasional pops caused the flames to mount higher, screams of terror echoing off houses.

 

“Spidey, no! You can’t go in there, its not safe, we can’t, we can’t, we need to let the professional do it. Speak with them, ask them what we can do!” The two red suited figures sat crouched on a rooftop, Daredevil clutching onto Spiderman’s arm, stopping him from leaping off the building into the roaring flames.

”There’s too many people trapped though, they’ll never get them out in time! I have to do something Double D, I have to help them!” He broke away from the older man’s grip, leaping off the building, swinging between towers towards the fire, a window not yet covered by flames, although inside was red with heat, charred beams collapsing, the walls creaking.

”Spidey! Spiderman!” He started running across buildings, towards the heat, the screams, the sobs piercing his ears. Each heartbeat in the building, beating in fear, pain, panic, the coughs and splutters of too much smoke inhalation. The soft mutters as people tried to help each other, shouts as they tried to get people out, encouraging them to jump out the window, jump through floors, get to the lower levels. Wheezing, from the firefighters breathing apparatus, as they passed masks to the injured, helping them take fresh oxygen, before carrying them out the building. Water, hissing, trying to dampen the flames. As he got closer, it got harder to breathe, the grey smoke filling his lungs, stinging his nose and throat. He threw an arm up over his mouth, trying to filter it away, as he continued to run, dropping down through fire escapes to the ground, closer to the base of the building. 5, 10, 15, 20 heartbeats all panicking, all stuck. Spiderman crawling towards people, he could hear their cries of joy as they saw him, and he got them out, passing them to ambulances before running right back in, even as the Devil shouted after him.

”Idiot, idiot kid.” He paced restlessly outside, police blocking him from getting any closer, as he shouted to the firemen where to focus their efforts, where the people were. Trapped, alone, frightened.

 

As time wore on, Spiderman seemed to be stuck somewhere, or someone else was stuck, he wasn’t leaving again. Firemen rushed past, carrying victims, many now coming out unconscious, succumbed to the smoke, their hearts beating tiredly as they tried to suck in clean air.

 

Something was wrong.

 

The police tried to push people back, something was creaking, louder now, the building crying out in pain, in anguish.

 

He felt himself grabbed, an officer in uniform, trying to pull him away. He couldn’t be moved though, rooted, immobile. The kid was in there still. He knew his powers kept him safer, and that Stark’s suit likely had something to filter out the smoke, but he could still be trapped. “SPIDEY! GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THERE!” There was no response, the building started to fall, beams dropping. He shook off the arm holding him back, head down he raced into the building, tracking, tracking, Pete’s heartbeat, where.

There. Under this floor. Stairs. Over there. He kept low, coughing, relying on his hearing, hands held out in front of him. A beam fell, he dodged it, kicking it to the side, trying to keep an exit. He sprinted down the stairs, the air feeling clearer and cooler down here, the fire not yet crept down through, although there was plenty of smoke.

 

“SPIDEY?! WHAT’S WRONG?”

 

“She’s trapped! D you shouldn’t be in here, I can’t get this off her though!” A woman, her legs trapped beneath a fallen filing cabinet, as Peter held another away from her chest. She breathed softly, unconscious from the smoke. Matt was suddenly there, lifting, pulling her out even as he coughed. “Webs, are you hurt?” The filing cabinets were dropped to the ground, and flames began to poor from the ceiling as the two men headed back up the stairs, Matt carrying the woman bridal style, covered in a blanket they found, following Peter. ”’m good, nothing bad, couple of scratches and bruises. Is everyone out now?” Truth, for once he wasn’t lying about his injuries, his suit upgrades must be doing something, helping him stay safer.

”I can’t hear any more heartbeats in the building. You did the best you could Webs,-” Coughing, Matt tried to hurry them up, walking faster, dodging flames. They’d had to go a different way, the building already falling around them. “-get her out of here, I’m slowing you down kid.”

 

“D, no! I’m not leaving you here.” ”She needs to be in an ambulance 10 minutes ago. Get her help. NOW Peter.” His coughing was getting worse, too much smoke, too much work, too human. “I’ll get out, I know you can just swing out, you’re more fire proof and you’re slowing down for me.” He vaguely heard the kids AI agree with him, persuade him into getting the civilian out, that it would be quicker and safer to go and come back than struggle together. The woman was passed over to Peter, who looked back quickly, before clutching her close and running straight through the flames. Once outside, through a back door, he found a paramedic, passing her over quickly, before turning to go back into the building.

 

“Spiderman, its about to fall! All the workers are accounted for, you did it, you got them all out, don’t go back in.” The nurse grabbed his arm, he simply looked at her, and then ran back to the flames. Couldn’t waste time, c’mon where was he. “Karen? You see him?”

“Tracking the path you came out from. Heat sensors not working. Infrared not working. I’m sorry Peter."

”Fuck, okay okay. DAREDEVIL! MATT!” He ran back the way he came, looking for the silhouette of the devil, he must have gotten this far by now. Everything was so red, so much fire, so much smoke. He tripped over something on the floor, not caring, focusing on trying to find Matt. When he ended up at the point they split he stopped, looking around. “Where’s he gone, he must have gotten lost. Okay, okay breathe, you can’t help him if you’re panicking.”

He started heading back the way he came, stopping at a junction, just before where he’d tripped. ’Maybe he got turned around here?’ A quick glance showed one way to be impassible, a short corridor before a dead end, a firmly shut door. He headed down the other way, where they flames seemed to get stronger, further into the centre of the factory.

“MATT!” Surely he wouldn’t have gone deeper into the fire, he would have been able to notice that, known it was wrong. The end of the corridor resulted in more closed doors, red heat coming from behind them, the handles impossible to touch. He went back, towards the junction, turning again to work back towards the entrance, mindful of looking out for whatever had tripped him up last time.

“No no no no no. Matt! Hey! Fuck no, Matt, wake up!” There, slumped, laid on the floor, was the devil. Flames licking at his suit, his chest barely moving with breath. “Karen help!” ”Peter, you need to get him out of here. There’ll be a car waiting outside, just pick him up and go. You can’t do anything in here.” Karen had barely started talking when the ceiling began to creak, a crack forming. He grabbed his mentor, throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, the only way to carry the much taller man. “I’m sorry Matt.” He whispered, before sprinting towards the entrance, as burning plaster began to fall on them. Crashing sounds followed, as the ceiling fell in, offices and desks collapsing through the floors, turning his run out into a race for their lives.

It took too long to get out. Too long with Matt not responding, not caring as his head bounced against Peter’s back, or as the building fell onto them. As they fell outside, a paramedic tried to rush over to them, but Peter was scanning, looking for Tony, or Happy. A private marked ambulance screeched to the kerb, Happy jumping from the back with a doctor, who came and took Matt from him. He suddenly felt very weak, adrenaline running out, and leant on Happy as they went back to the ambulance.

Matt was being worked on, an oxygen mask pressed to his face, various monitors attached to him, his skin pale and ashy, each breath he took sounded raspy and painful. His heat rate, now signalled by a beep, sounded much too slow, and the doctor and nurse were a flurry of movement around him, even as they sped to the medbay.

”I shouldn’t have left him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be a bit late on the next few days, I'm driving up country to see some friends for a couple of days! Don't know if I'll get time to write whilst up there.
> 
> For anyone who follow's Devil's Support Group, Lily is working on her chapter, she's started uni so is a bit strapped for time at the moment! Go send her some love xx


	22. Friendly Fire

“Frank, you after them too?” The two men had met on a rooftop, overlooking a docks, activity taking place under the moonlight. Frank nodded, eyes focused down a sniper rifle as the devil sat beside him. ”Russian’s, they’ve been smuggling women out of the country, selling them.” ”They nearly got Karen the other night, she managed to mace them though.” ”Good girl, she’s a fighter you know Red.”

“She shouldn’t have to fight. We should be able to keep this city safe for her, safe for everyone else. And that means stopping this gang. They’re planning a big move again tonight, they’ve got about 200 women held up here, and a ship heading in in about an hour.”

“I’ve got eyes on the leaders, if we take them out the rest will scatter.” Frank focused on a group of three men, stood outside a modern car, money exchanging hands. ”And then they’ll regroup again, we need to teach them a lesson.”

“Not at the cost of all these women though Red. We need to get them out tonight, save them from this fate. First free them, then we can teach them a lesson when there’s fewer risks involved.”

Matt cocked his head, focusing on the leaders, and counting the number of workers.

“18 men. You have a plan? No killing, its a lesson, not a bloodbath.”

“Shoot out their tires, stop them from transporting the women to the coast. Non lethal injuries to the workers, you deal with the leaders, try and get what information you can from them.”

Matt simply nodded, before climbing down the building, feet touching the floor with barely a sound, before he crept to the warehouses, tracking, finding weaknesses. Crouched, he waited in a shadowed corner, cooler than anywhere else, waiting for Frank’s signal, to start the fight.

 

Shots fired out from the rooftop, hitting tires with exact precision, the hiss of air as they deflated, some with a bang, some with a slow whine. Matt jumped into action, leaping over barriers, sprinting to the leaders, their guns whipping out as they tried to look for the shooter, not expecting the devil as he jumped into their rough circle, fists flying, punches landing.

 

A hit to the first man’s head, knocking him towards the floor. The other men, realising they couldn’t shoot without risk of injuring their allies, tried to fight. Obviously inexperienced, few of their blows landed, as Matt danced around them, punching, kicking, grabbing, throwing.

 

One down, the gun shots continued to fly around him, a cacophony of sound and movement, screams of terror from the inexperienced, shouts from others as they started to join in, converging on the fight in the centre, even as they were taken out, shot in the legs, arms, enough to maim but not to kill. Those who ran, Frank let them, fleeing from the scene. Many of them young kids, caught up in the crime, doing what they have to to keep their families safe, to keep themselves safe.

 

Two leaders left fighting, and a sudden influx of workers meant Matt was on the floor, kicking, reaching, gunfire going off around him as he tried to leap up. Pushing people into containers, vehicles, never stopping. Trusting Frank to keep as many people as possible away, to stop anyone else from joining the fight, or allow them to move on any of the women.

 

Dodge, weave, duck, punch. Throw a baton, slide under a man, grab an abandoned gun across empty space, landing on the chest of a worker, stunning them briefly before they attempted to rejoin the fight, taken quickly out by a shot to the hand. Bodies hitting the floor, roughly breathing, moaning in pain, trying to crawl away, pulling themselves into or behind cars.

A shout, carried in the wind to Matt’s ears, only just loud enough for him to hear. “Red, someone called for backup! Incoming trucks, I can’t take them out and cover you at the same time.” He showed no sign of hearing, but his efforts somehow doubled down further, punches landing with more ferocity, each attack a little more ruthless, a little more panicked. Incoming footsteps pounded across the tarmac, methodical, in time, steady heartbeats showing their expertise, even as Matt could hear their guns arming.

 

The fight continued. Stronger, harder, and now he dodged bullets from the 13 more men joining the battle, hearing the dull pings as they hit cars, vehicles, shipping containers. Frank’s bullet’s continued to fly, taking out men, taking out the new car’s. Trapping everyone in this small block of space, surrounded by warehouses, a single road in and out. But the fight was converging onto Matt, more and more people surrounding him, pinning him down. Fists flying, the 6 men left were holding nothing back, Matt injured from nights previous, and exhausted from his double lives, was down on the floor again. Frank’s shots had slowed, the risk of injuring Matt too high, the men surrounding him too close.

He thought he saw Matt shout something, but the sound was taken by the wind, and drowned by the shouts of all the men fighting. But he could see him tap out against the ground, a fighter’s sign, he was done, he was spent, too tired, too injured. The suit must be hiding a multitude of injuries, but the men they were against wouldn’t care about a tap out, wouldn’t stop until the devil was down or dead.

 

“One batch, two batch,” He breathed in deeply, aiming at the men who refused to stay still, “Penny and dime.” A shot rang out, clear in the night sky, soon muffled by the fight below as it sank into a man’s chest, his body slumping even as the fight continued. Another shot, another body hit the floor, but Matt still couldn’t get up, still pinned down. A third, more dangerous, so close to Matt, more bodies hitting the floor, blood spreading across the tarmac, shining under the moon and streetlights.

 

Matt against 3 men, it should be easy for him, he should be able to fight these off. But he wasn’t couldn’t. He was injured. One hand holding his other arm, and as he tried to stand, his leg failed beneath him.

 

In succession, three last shots fired, their bodies falling, onto Matt. Frank was already running though, sprinting down a fire escape, losing sight of Matt as he rounded the building, head whipping side to side, checking for enemies, but overwrought with worry.

 

He knelt, not caring for the blood he was in, pushing a body off Matt, who groaned, “Frank.”

”Shit Red, how many shots?” ”Two. They got me in the leg, and you got me in the arm.” Frank’s vision went white. “Think it went through one of the thugs and landed on me instead. Broken I think, although legs just bruised. Should be okay to walk though.”

 

Frank still couldn’t see, his focus built onto Matt, a shot he didn’t even notice. How. How did he shoot Matt. He shot Matt.


	23. Self Sacrifice

“Mr Stark, you didn’t need to pick me up from practice, I could have walked back to the tower, or caught the subway.”  
“No kid of mine needs ever to catch the subway. You don’t enjoy it, I know you, there’s too many people. Besides, you can help me get Pep a birthday present, I don’t know what she likes, and she said it was too simple to just buy her something online.” She’d said to Happy a proper present was picked out from a shop. “So we’re off to look at all the tacky gift shops and jewellery shops to find something she’ll like. I need help Peter basically, I’ve never brought a heartfelt gift before. What am I supposed to do?!”  
They were driving towards one of the smaller shopping centres, more expensive shops, and regularly frequented by the higher class of New York. Tony had never been there, although he had heard his mother gushing about it years ago to an uninterested Howard, about the beautiful jewellery, and intricate sculptures. He hoped he could find Pepper something she appreciated, and showed just how he thought about her. 

“Something’s wrong.” Peter’s head whipped around, looking to the exits, to their fellow customers, the staff members. “Something’s about to go terribly wrong.”  
“Shit. Suit’s incoming.” Tony tapped on his watch, moving him and Peter closer to a statue. Expensive shops never seemed to have aisles they could hide in, it was too open, too dangerous. And no one else even knew something was about to happen. “Hit the fire alarm Peter, stay low. I’m right behind you.”  
As they began to move, they heard the door open, measured, heavy footsteps walking through. “Everyone stay still. Don’t move.” Their heads turned, two men, armed, bullet proof vests. Masks over their face.  
“Shit Pete, okay, do as they say. They might not see us over here. If they see me we might be screwed, shuffle away a bit, I don’t want you hurt.” Ignoring the pleading look in Peter’s eyes, they moved apart, standing still, watching, waiting. The robbers headed to the cashier, “Empty the till. Now.”   
Terrified, she complied, whimpering, although Peter saw her hit the panic button as she fumbled with some cash. The police would be on their way. Hopefully these people were just after money, they had no suits, nothing to help them.   
“Faster!” Their guns were pointed at the woman, her hands trembling as she emptied the money.   
“That’s it. The tills empty, I- we- we don’t keep that much money here.”  
“Useless bitch. What about the other till.”  
“I can’t get into th-that one.”  
“Liar. Do it.” One of the men stepped closer, pressing a pistol to her head, and clicking the safety off.  
”I ca-ca-can’t! It’s p-policy, only my man-anager can open the till, he’s, he’s on his break, he’ll be back soon!” Tears were beginning to fall down her face, and Peter locked eyes with her, seeing the pure fear in her face. He stood, stepping quietly, further from his mentor, and closer to the action.  
“Peter. Don’t you dare.” Tony whispered sharply, shaking his head.   
“I can’t leave her Mr Stark.”   
The men seemed to converse between themselves, before barking further orders at the woman. “There must be money in the back room. Or something expensive we can sell. We need more money. Get us it.” She almost ran into the back room, not taking a second glance at Peter. Both men took their masks off, rubbing their hands over their faces, and Peter quickly committed them to memory. As the door reopened, they quickly pulled them back up, before snatching what the woman had brought back. “I can’t get into too much. Please don’t hurt me, the police will be here soon.”  
”You called the police?”  
”I knew we shouldn’t have let you go out there alone, stupid bitch.”  
“Kid you’ll be the death of us both.” Tony moved to follow, checking his watch he knocked his arm into a shelf, causing a glass to shatter to the floor. “Shit.” He paced, striding quickly to his kid, even as the men shouted out.  
“Who’s there?!”   
“Fuck, we need to get out of here.”  
”It’s just a kid.” They’d seen Peter, who stood, defensively, arms held loosely at his sides. Weaponless and suitless there wasn’t much they could do to help, but they could try and stop anyone from being hurt.   
“Oi, kid, who are you, what are you doing here?” Peter was grateful for the acting lessons he’d taken, it was too easy to pretend to be scared, to put enough fear into his voice.  
“I-I was just shopping, I knocked a glass to the floor. Please don’t hurt me! Or hurt her!”  
“Shit. Did you see our faces?” Peter slowly shook his head no, stiffening as one of the men came closer, standing paces away, Tony still hidden beside him, watching the scene unfold, but knowing that if they saw a man they would be more likely to shoot. Better to stay here, wait for the suits to arrive, give them some defense.   
“He’s lying. If he was there the whole time he’d have seen us, he’s lying to save himself, anyone would. You know what needs doing.”  
Tony watched, as Peter, eyes wide, made a shooing gesture with his hand. He saw the footsteps of the woman as she ran out of the shop, breathing heavily. The doors closed behind her, softly, a reminder that they were just shopping, this wasn’t supposed to happen.   
“He’s just a kid though boss.”  
“No witnesses. That’s how we get killed, or locked up.”  
The spider sense was going haywire, a constant panic coursing through his veins. For some reason, he couldn’t move, was frozen with fear. Numb, he watched the gun lift, and realised too late, MOVE. He dodged, and his vision went white, spider sense gone mad, he felt himself land on the floor, tripping over himself as he was pushed.  
As his vision cleared, he realised it wasn’t him the spider sense was warning for. Next to him, suit now wrinkled, Tony lay face down, arms sprawled. Peter grabbed him, flipping him onto his back, and just looking at the red blood slowly flood his white shirt, a clean shot strange to his chest. He grabbed what was probably a really expensive towel, and used it to put pressure on the wound, some sense of first aid training kicking in, even as Tony groaned in pain. The sound of repulsors filled his ears as suits finally arrived, smashing through windows, and the robbers attempted to run. They were stopped, each pinned by an empty suit.   
“I’m sorry sir, I was too late. An ambulance has been called, please sir remain calm. Mr Parker, are you hurt?” A suit knelt down next to them, even as Tony gasped for air, panic in his face. A bloody hand reached out to Peter, grabbing onto his arm.   
”Pete.” He panted, the single word asking a hundred questions, are you okay, are you hurt.  
”Tony I’m fine, you saved me, I’m not hurt. Don’t talk, its okay, you’re okay.”  
Sirens filled the air, and soon police turned up, finally responding to the panic button. They had met the shop attendant outside, and soon an officer was with Tony and Peter, taking over medical care until an ambulance could get there. Another caught Peter, asking him question after question, what had happened, even as others collected evidence. The whole time Peter’s eyes remained locked on his mentor, spidey sense throbbing continually, screaming danger, danger. It continued even as an ambulance arrived, paramedics rushing in with stretchers. Even as he followed them, as Tony fell into unconsciousness, as he was connected to monitors and ivs and blood bags, FRIDAY speaking from Tony’s watch to tell them his medical info.  
The spidey sense continued to drone on, danger, danger. As the heart monitor seemed to slow in its constant beeping. As they arrived at the hospital, racing out of the ambulance and straight into surgery. As Peter was stopped from following, shown to a waiting room. Where he paced, and paced and paced. Where May found him, and he fell into her arms, only now noticing the blood covering him. They waited, for what seemed like hours, in near silence.


	24. Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I have no words but sorry. I will complete this, just got distracted with Secret Santas and life.

As he watched the suited figure fall into the water, he could only think of their conversation from a few nights previous.

“I never learnt how to swim, who needed to swim in the middle of Hells Kitchen, much less a blind boy. It’s fine though, I just make sure to stay away from the Hudson.”

 

It had started out as just a normal patrol for the pair of them, they’d teamed up when their circuits around the city had crossed paths, taking out a few muggers, investigating a couple of gangs. Doing what they needed to in order to keep their cities safe, protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.

 

They’d stumbled on, or Matt had heard, a group of men trading money, apparently a link to a gang in the Kitchen, and a quick talk had soon turned to a fight, as more joined them. 14 against the two of them, and for once actually trained. The fight became dirty, Matt and Peter disarming the men one by one, forcing them to fight with their hands, stopping the risk of any bullet wounds, although they remained relentless, blow upon blow raining down. The men seemed to split into two groups, forcing the two vigilantes further away from each other.

 

Distracted by his own attacker, he barely noticed as Matt suffered yet another blow to the head, four men starting to overpower him, cornering him. Moving him closer to the water, the open area they’d ended up in becoming a danger zone, his fighting confined to the ground, where he didn’t have as much freedom to use his webs. Slowly, surely more men became incapacitated, webbed together, or simply unconscious. One of the men had a knife now, and nearly sliced through his stomach, Matt flinching as Peter swore in shock, before quickly incapacitating him. “Why did you get a knife?!”

 

As he defeated the last man targeting him, he realised just how far away their fights had been moved, Matt now fighting right on the edge of the water, a decent sprint away from him. Even as he started running towards him, webs flying out to disable attackers, Matt, seemingly dazed, teetered on the edge, falling almost gracefully backwards. “No, no, no, no!”

 

He tried to send a web. The fluid was empty. Tried the other, it flew, skimming over Matt’s body as it hit the water, a dull echoing splash echoing through the empty space. He barely noticed the remaining men, he was stood at the water’s edge even as they ran away, abandoning their fellow members.

 

Through the black water, he could see nothing. No struggles, no sign of red, no movement. “No.” Of all things, his mind went to the safety advice everyone was given in school.

 

If in deep water, breath out and watch the bubbles to find out which way was up. Don’t panic. Try to shed heavy clothing.

He remembered, in school, before he went blind, they once took place in a safety day. Local firefighters, policemen and paramedics visited them, giving advice. Their young minds were taught how to escape a building on fire, how to call an ambulance, how to report a crime, how to survive if they fell in deep water. There wasn’t many places for a kid to learn how to swim in their area of the kitchen, and his dad didn’t have the money to constantly travel to a pool, or for the lessons. After he lost his sight, and his father, no one thought he would ever need to swim, how could someone who’s blind ever swim. But basic safety tips apparently would be helpful, and so they learnt. Try to not fall into deep water clothed, if you do, lose your heavy clothing if possible. Use light from the sun, or watch bubbles to know which way was up. Don’t panic, float on your back, paddle towards shore, or tread water.

 

But he was panicking. He couldn’t swim. Couldn’t float. His suit was too heavy. He couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t detect anything. Which way was up? Everything was so muted, he tried to swim, but the movement was so unnatural, he didn’t know how. His limbs were so heavy, and he was so tired. Running out of oxygen. Was this how Daredevil died, drowning in the Hudson? He’d never had cause to hold his breath for any length of time before, and soon was forced to take a breath, water flooding his lungs, causing him to cough, to take in more. It was silent down here, water filling his suit, his lungs, as the oxygen leaked from his breath, nothing to replace it, and with it, consciousness also left him. Falling, his body a weight in the water, ready to fall at rest at the bottom of the Hudson.

 

A splash, as the other red suited figure leapt into the water, Spider Sense flaring as heat signatures flashed across his vision, an AI helping. The Devil was so far down, and wasn’t moving. A voice in his ear told him that help was on its way, that Iron Man was on his way. He swam, his lungs already starting to burn, deeper, deeper, finally catching onto his teammate. Arm looped around him, he began the swim to the surface, panic setting in, Matt wasn’t moving, was so limp, unconscious.

 

They broke the surface, and Peter threw Matt out of the water onto the ledge, before climbing out himself, rushing over to kneel next the older man. Who wasn’t breathing. His chest was still where he lay on his back, and he was so cold. Peter by now was shivering, and knew it was so so bad Matt wasn’t.

“Karen what do I do, help me. Shit shit shit, please hurry up Mr Stark.” He pulled Matt’s helmet down, exposing his neck, and his own gloves off, trying to find a pulse. “Shit, Karen.”

 

‘Peter, I’m going to talk you through CPR, do exactly what I say. Mr Stark and the Doctor are nearly here, but you need to start now.’

 

When Tony arrived, it was to a sobbing Peter, carrying out CPR on Daredevil, who was way too pale, too still. “Pete, I’m here now, you’re okay, you’ve done so well.” ”He’s not breathing still, he has no pulse, I think I broke his ribs doing CPR, please don’t let him die, its my fault, he can’t die.” As a team of people surrounded the Devil, he watched, pulled away by his mentor, who draped a blanket around his shoulders, before bundling them into a car, Happy arriving to follow the ambulance back to the tower, where Daredevil could be looked after without risking exposure of his identity. “No, I can’t leave him!”


	25. Restraints

When he awoke the next time, he couldn’t move. The room felt out of sync, his head spinning, mouth dry. The smell of vomit clogging the air, even as he gagged again, shaking with pain as his body bucked against bonds, before sagging, weak, laid out on a table.

”Are you actually with us this time boy? Seems as though you’ve lost your ability to fight, nasty concussion you had there, thought we might have lost you permanently. The lights have come back on in your eyes now though, blind as they are. Such a pretty face for someone so brutal, you’ll make a good pet. Especially now everyone looking for you is gone.” Matt just stared at the area the voice came from, voice stolen, hearing damaged, a broken figure. What did he mean by his friend’s being gone? He tried to put the expression of a question into his face, he didn’t know they knew his identity, how could they have hurt them.

 

“We’ve had nothing, no call or anything.” If Matt could hear, he would have picked up on the lie in the stranger’s heart, could have had some hope to hold onto. As things were, he was forced to believe him, forced to take the words given to him as a fact. “We’ll see how long you can be useful to us my boy, or perhaps we can get some money for you, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, finally broken. You’d make someone very happy, I think we’ve punished you enough, it’s just pathetic now.”

 

Matt simply glared, hands clenching and releasing, the few signs of his anger he could show.

”You can’t fight, can’t talk, can’t see. Can barely hear. You’re a worthless being, and I’m not surprised no one cares for you, not surprised that no one has come to rescue you. Is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen really that useless, that worthless, that no one will pay for you?” Licking his lips, mouth dry, he wished for some water, doubtful he would get it, but he was close to dehydration now, he knew. Was it better to die from dehydration and starvation, or from them eventually giving up and murdering him. Which would cause less pain? Without being rescued, he would die here, he didn’t know where he was, couldn’t fight, couldn’t sense where people were. He was truly blind, world on fire burnt out.

 

“You thirsty kid? I bet you are. Here, my treat.” Confusion settled onto Matt’s face, the sounds of something scraping on the floor, before what felt like a bucket of water was thrown over him. Some drops fell into his mouth, but this only served to make him thirstier, and the sound of laughter followed from the stranger. “Goodnight kid, see you in the morning, or I suppose you won’t.”

The door clanged shut, leaving him with just his thoughts, churning in the darkness, and the need for water, for food, for rescue. Now soaked, he felt colder, body exposed to the coldness of the room, restrained so he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything to warm himself up. Could only hope that exhaustion took him quickly, that unconsciousness would claim him.

 

Faint thoughts of escape plagued him, but there was too much against him. He didn’t know where he was, didn’t know an escape route, how to get out. Couldn’t know how many people were in the building, if anyone would help him. Was too weak to fight, and couldn’t sense a thing. Too weak, hunger and thirst attacking his body, eating away at his muscle.

 

If no one was on their way to rescue him, he would die here. Either no one saw that video they posted, or no one cared.

 

He thought Foggy and Karen would still rescue him if he was dying. Thought that Claire would still care for him enough to at least report it, surely the police, the Avengers, would rescue a captured civilian, a captured vigilante.

 

They truly hated him, that they would prefer to leave him to die in this hellhole. A place where he would die, the final resting place of Daredevil.

As the minutes turned into hours, and the silence dragged on, he began to lose more and more hope of rescue. Drowsing in that space between wakefulness and sleep, he hoped that death would come quickly for him, that it wouldn’t be painful, that he could at least drift off in his sleep. But he knew that would be a rare chance, that these people were intent on punishment, and on pain.

 

Even if he did escape, he would be a burden on society, reliant even more on someone’s help. It didn’t seem worth it. Why hope for freedom, knowing the world you’re escaping to is no better? He would never be Daredevil again, could never fight, not with this world on fire turned into ashes. Couldn’t save people with no voice, what use is a lawyer who can’t speak?

 

It was pointless.

 

His fate was accepted.

 

Die here, or die on the outside, death always came for those it chose. And he felt as though he’d already been chosen. A victim to a war, a soldier felled fighting his cause.

 

Hours bled into days, and he remained alone, only his thoughts for company. Eventually, he was awoken by water thrown over him, restraints removed he was manhandled into standing, weak as he was.

 

“Boss doesn’t want you, you’re being sold to the highest bidder. Here, your suit, need you to be recognisable.” Hands and body shaking, Matt tried to pick up the heavy suit, abandoned at his feet, the feel of the fabric throwing him back to the past. Trying to pull it on, he was too weak, falling to the floor, where he remained, crumpled. “I told them we’d have this problem, starving someone, keeping them restrained, does havoc on a person’s strength. Kid, do I have to do everything for you?” Too tired and defeated to feel embarrassed, Matt simply lay limp as he was forced back into his suit, the material hanging off him, now way too big. His mask was shoved back onto his head, and he was lifted, arm draped around the stranger’s shoulder, and pulled out of the room, into what felt like a corridor, a breeze rattling it’s way past his body, fresh air from somewhere outside. He was left, dumped, unceremoniously on the floor in another room, the concrete cold through his skin, and his body useless to him. Unmoving, uncaring, he couldn’t bring himself to life his head from where it had lolled onto his chest, and was thankful for the wall against his back keeping him upright.


	26. Broken Ribs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow up from Drowning

He woke up, panic rushing his senses, looking around blindly, drugs in his system dulling pain, and swaddled in blankets restricting his movement.  
”Matt, Matt, hey you’re in Stark’s medbay, you’re safe.” Peter tried his best to hide the waver in his voice, knowing that Matt would no doubt still hear it. “I’m sorry, you’re safe, you’re good, don’t try to talk for now, you couldn’t breathe on your own, they had to intubate, they weren’t expecting you to wake up so soon.”  
White noise fading, Matt took stock of his own body. A tube, through his mouth, down his throat, forcing oxygen into his lungs, forcing his body to take breaths. Numbness in his hands and feet, no doubt from the cold and lack of oxygen. Pain around his ribs, wrapped with bandages. He looked towards Peter, pointing at his ribs, confused as to how they were injured, did he hit something underwater?  
“You died Matt. I had to perform CPR on you, I was too strong, some of your ribs cracked. I’m sorry.” The waver in his voice gave way to sniffs, the fear and panic he’d suppressed finally making itself known. He rubbed at his eyes, startled a little when Matt’s hand landed on his own, rubbing it gently, as though to say, it wasn’t his fault.  
“I should have been watching better, you’d gotten too close to the water, I shouldn’t have let them move us apart. I should have been quicker, I nearly caught you but my web fluid was out, I missed you, you fell. I expected you to get yourself out, I should have jumped in sooner, I know you can’t swim, you were so far away. You sank so quickly! I was too slow.”  
Matt began gently shaking his head, patting at Peter all the while, trying to reassure him without words.  
“I should be the one comforting you Matt, I’m sorry, you’re the one in hospital, ‘m making it all about me.” Matt pointed at the tube in his mouth, sketching a question mark on Peter’s hand.  
“I’ll see, I would have thought the doctor would have been here by now. Friday?”  
”Doctor Williams is on his way, he was just tending to another patient, I have been keeping him up to date with Mr Murdock’s vitals. He believes he should be fine to be taken off of ventilation, but he will need to remain on oxygen for a while.”  
Matt had jolted at the sudden voice, face furrowed in confusion as he ‘looked’ around the room, the voice seeming to come from tiny speakers embedded near the ceiling. And the fact the AI knew his name.  
”That’s Mr Stark’s AI, I forget you haven’t been in the Tower before, should have introduced you. She helps protect the tower, and can answer any questions you might have.” This seemed to make Matt more fearful, and Peter wasn’t sure why. “Matt? Why don’t you like her?”  
Their charades of a conversation continued, Matt pointing at the ceiling, his eyes, and then himself.  
“You feel uncomfortable with her watching you? Because you can’t sense her?” He nodded, wishing for this tube to be gone, for him to be able to leave this bed, and get out of this tower.  
“She doesn’t have any cameras in the medbay or in private areas, and only microphones in here to help to monitor patients, so help can be called for them quicker if they’re alone in the room.” He frowned, hearing footsteps outside the door, before it was opened.  
“Hi, I’m Doctor Williams, I’ve been looking after you Mr Murdock. Sorry for having to find out your identity, but I’m sworn to confidence, and held down by a large number of threats should I tell anyone. We, that is me and my fellow doctors, became concerned when you failed vision tests, and worried that your drowning had caused some serious side effects. They were dismissed from the case, and I’ve now joined Mr Stark’s team of doctors, specialising in keeping identities secret whilst giving free care to those who need it. But enough of that, you’re awake, and so we’ll see if we can get that tube out of you, and get you breathing on your own. Peter, if you could step out for a minute, this can be uncomfortable to watch.”  
”I- I should stay.” Peter looked between the two men, and Matt waved him off, pushing him gently away to the door, before pointing at him, and making the motion of a drink. “Friday, tell me when I can come back please?”  
“Of course Mr Parker.” He left the room, throwing one quick glance back at Matt, who was listening to the doctor as he explained how the tube would be removed. On the walk up to the communal area, he was filled with anxiety and self-doubt, and guilt, his mind churning on what he should have done. He knew Matt had a close friend, and looked up his number, kicking himself for not have doing it sooner.  
“Hello? Is that Foggy Nelson?” He perched on one of the countertops, trying to keep the waver out of his voice.  
“It’s Peter, Spiderman. Matt’s been injured.”  
“We’re at Stark Tower, he’s in the medbay. I can send a driver to pick you up.” He looked up at one of Friday’s cameras, mouthing the name ‘Happy.’ The lights flashed in response, and a screen flickered into life, showing a map of Hell’s Kitchen.  
”Okay, he’s on his way. Where are you?”  
“He drowned last night, fell in the Hudson. I’m sorry, I wasn’t fast enough. I had to perform CPR, he’s fine now, but I think he could do with a friend. He’s awake, the doctor’s in the room with him now taking him off intubation.”  
”I’m sorry Mr Nelson.” His voice choked, the tears he’d been holding in spilling to the surface.  
“I know, I just blame myself still.” Heavy sniffs permeated his speech, tears tracking down his face. He sat in silence for a little while, listening to the voice at the end of the phone.  
“Thank you. I know, I was just so scared.”  
“Happy’ll bring you straight to the tower, you can come straight up. Friday, Mr Stark’s AI will take you where you need to go.”  
“See you in a bit, I’m sorry.”  
He hung up, and the door opened, someone entering, who he couldn’t see through the tears.  
”I know kid, I know, you did so well, I’m so proud of you, you were so brave.” He was drawn into a hug, and sobbed into his mentor’s shoulder, the tears, guilt and anger he’d been holding in pouring out.


	27. 'I can't walk!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hideously short drabble but this one wasn't my friend, thought it better to post what I had rather than struggle over it for even longer.

“I can’t do it! I can’t walk, I’m never going to be able to walk properly again. This is ridiculous.”

“Hey, Tones, you can. Come on, one step at a time, hold onto the support.” Two broken friends, trying to help the other walk again. “That’s it, you’ve got it.” ”How did the videos make this look so easy? It’s my goddam foot, not my leg, this is pathetic.” Limbs shaking, he clutched onto the bar with his right hand, left arm supported in a sling. The doctors had pleaded for more rest, that he used a wheelchair for longer, that he shouldn’t be walking yet at all. He’d argued, begged, pleaded, that he walk, and reluctantly they helped, fixing him with a prosthetic foot, the damage to the limb lesser than his arm, and so accepting of a support much sooner. Just two weeks after being rescued from Siberia he was up, pushing himself to walk properly, training himself to move without a proper foot, without an ankle. He’d lost muscle mass from two weeks of barely moving, a shadow of his former self. Stood in front of him, arms outstretched, Rhodey was wearing the custom braces Tony had designed, helping him to stand, to move, even though he still suffering from his own injuries.

 

Tony kept trying, forcing himself to hobble, cursing every time his leg wobbled and he nearly collapsed, the movement so foreign to him, and with the missing toes on his right foot making it even harder to balance safely.

 

“Time out Tones, you need a break.” ”No, I’ve got to get it, I can get this.” ”You’ve been going for three hours, it’s too long, you’re too tired, have some food, something to drink.” He walked over to the wheelchair, pushing it back to where Tony was clutching onto the bar. ”I’m fine, I’ll never beat this if I keep giving up.” ”You’ve improved today, take a rest, you’ve got an appointment with the physiotherapist to see your progress later.”

“Exactly, I need to get this, I need to crack this. I can’t be seen as weak.”

“You’ll run yourself into the ground Tones, please, take a break, come on, for me, please. I need to recharge my legs anyway, lets go have a drink upstairs, see what’s happening in the world.”


	28. Serious Illness

He awoke, with a panic, the feel of cables and tubes over him, with vulnerability. Looking around, he saw his young ward slumped in the chair nearby, snoring softly. They were in a small room, just the two of them, and countless machines surrounded him, the harsh lines of a oxygen mask over his face, an IV in the back of his hand, and various monitors attached to his skin. Bandages wrapped his chest, underneath the crisp white of hospital linen. Outside, he could hear soft murmurs, voices that sounded familiar, along with that of a stranger. Rhodey? Pepper? He felt, high, a toxic mess of drugs in his system, making him feel loopy and out of it. He roughly shoved the mask off his face, wanting, needing to talk.

“Pete?” He whispered, wanting to know what was happening, but not wanting to disturb the kids sleep. Upon hearing his name, Peter stretched awake, looking first to the door, before jolting upright and heading to his mentor’s bedside.

“Mr Stark, they said you wouldn’t be awake for a while, how are you feeling?” ”Like I was shot kiddo. They’ve got me on the good drugs though, I can’t generally feel anything. I’m sorry kid, you shouldn’t have had to see that.” ”I was so scared. They wouldn’t tell us anything when you were in surgery, I didn’t know what to do. JARVIS had called Pepper and Rhodey,” he sniffed, tears welling in his eyes, “They weren’t sure if you would make it.”

“Oh kiddo, hey, I made it, you did good, I know, I know, you shouldn’t have had to see that, that shouldn’t have happened. We were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“But if we weren’t there, then that girl would have been hurt?” ”Possibly, we don’t know though. We can’t know everything that could have or should have happened. Perhaps us being there managed to stall time for her, to offer a distraction and time for the police to arrive. Whatever the reason, it was simply bad luck that they actually knew how to use a gun, and ended up using it. I’m just glad you weren’t hurt kiddo.” ”You nearly died though Mr Stark. It clipped your heart, there was so much blood. You were really ill for a while, we were so so worried. Please, please don’t do that again.” ”I’ll try kiddo. I’ll try.”

With that the door opened, Pepper and Rhodey walking through. “Tony! You’re awake, they said you wouldn’t be up for a while. How you feeling?” Pepper exclaimed, rushing to his bedside, whilst Rhodey came to stand at the foot of his bed.

“I’ve been better?” ”I left you, for two days, to go to a conference, and you get yourself shot Tony?!” He winced, rubbing at his chest, before dropping his hand at the glare Rhodey gave him, quickly changing to a look of compassion.

“Why did you have to go to the one shop that was being robbed that day?! I’ve had countless journalists on the phone asking me for interviews, I didn’t want to have to tell them you were dying. Tony, you nearly died, please, never ever do that to me again. I was so worried, I can’t lose you Tony, not again.” She started to break down, anger and sadness merging as one, emotion too strong to properly ”Pep I’m sorry, I love you, I never mean to hurt you, I’m sorry-” Trapped by the embrace of blankets and wires, he tried to move, tried to offer support, wincing as bandages rubbed on wounds. ”Oh Tony, stay still, I know, you’re fine now, I just wish you always didn’t get so hurt.” She perched on the edge of the bed, cradling his head, rubbing a hand through his hair, uncaring of the awkward eyes on them as Peter and Rhodey tried their best to avoid eye contact. As Tony’s breathing began to wobble, the mask was placed back on his face, tampering a little Peter’s sense of danger which still remained, blaring a klaxon in his head. It suddenly raised, an alarm of panic, of danger, of urgency, and he quickly pressed a call button.

“Something’s wrong.” All eyes turned straight to Tony on the bed, who began to talk, before words were taken from him.

“No? I feel fi-.” His words were taken from him as he began to hyperventilate, and the people around him began to panic. The few extra seconds Peter had given them seemed to be all the more important, as a team of nurses immediately rushed the room, pushing the others out, and beginning to work on their patient. As the door closed on three pale faces, they briefly heard the word ‘cardiac arrest’.

Looking back, they couldn’t say just how long they stood and paced outside that room, doctors and nurses joining the group that were in there, a flurry of activity. The conversation they had later with a doctor was a blur, but he was safe, he was alive.


	29. Seizure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a medical seizure as to say. More an attempt for seizure of goods, seizing the moment.

“Nelson? We’ve found him.”

A phone call, a private car outside his apartment. Rushing to Stark’s tower, their find, a website found on the dark web, selling people. Of pages of encryption, a small window on the darkweb where people did the most unspeakable things.

Matt’s picture appeared on screen, back in the devil suit, slumped against the ground, like a puppet with its strings cut. “No, Matt.” The feed was scratchy, and no audio accompanied it, they could barely see his chest moving, and his face, although in shadow, looked nearly skeletal.

”Bidding starts in 10 minutes, we’re going to win him.”

”We’re buying him?! This is disgusting, can’t we just track it and take him?” Hands wringing in anxiety, and frustration, Foggy began pacing, eyes glued to the barely moving figure on the screen.

“If we wait, someone else will win him, there’s a lot of interest in the Devil already, a lot of starting bids in. We can get him now, if someone else does, chances are he will be taken abroad, or hurt more, you can already see how weak he is, we need to use this, to get him out today.” On another screen, JARVIS was running encryptions, hiding their location from the site owners.

”I don’t like it, but if it’s our only choice right now, I trust you. Thank you.” The feed changed, a wall of text coming up, which both men looked to, reading rapidly. It was the lot description, details about lot #3666.

“They’ve sold so many people.” Foggy’s voice was choked, even as he read the facts they had about Matt. His height, weight, a number far too low to even imagine as healthy. The fact he had been blinded and partially deafened on capture. ‘Refusal to speak’. Non compliant to requests. Damaged asset.

“He’s still as stubborn as before then, at least they haven’t been able to take that from him.”

“The injuries though.” Stark paced, two steps, turning, two steps, out of time with Foggy’s movement. “He’s going to need a lot of help, a lot of therapy. If they truly have managed to deafen him, he’s going to struggle, he might not recognise us when we get him. And we’ll have to act, I'm too recognisable to pick him up. You'll have to, with Happy. It’ll be tough. They can’t suspect who we are, we need to get him and get him away from them. Those sorts of people, they sometimes keep an eye on their sold trophies, we’re going to have to make him disappear.”

”Disappear?” Foggy froze.

”Daredevil won’t, can’t exist anymore. Fake death, or he simply disappears. If Matt is together enough to ever pick up that mantle again we can flog it as a copycat, but I don’t think he will be.”

“But Matt?”

”No one knows he’s missing out of your little group?”

”He doesn’t have many people. He’s got no clients at the moment, and I’ve closed down his office for a family emergency, anyone’s just going to think he’s away.”

”Family?”

”I’m his only family. He was an only child, his parents are dead. I don’t think there’s anyone else who would look for him.”

“Okay okay. So long as his identity isn’t compromised, he can carry on normally. Hmm something to explain the injuries and his loss of hearing. Car accident?”

Foggy chuckled, the quick laughter turning to tears in his eyes. “I suppose that would work again. Visiting a client’s next of kin away, hit by a bus, treated as a John Doe? Otherwise anyone who asks is going to find out he doesn’t actually have family. Would explain why there’s no hospital records, and he discharged himself as soon as possible because he hates hospitals, I picked him up?”

”Nelson, you’re too good. I’ll get Pepper to finalise something and make sure we all have the same story, especially Matt. Maybe, say I offered to cover the costs of care because I’ve recently hired Nelson and Murdock onto my team of lawyers? Would explain why he’s staying in the Tower for a while.”

”Yeah. This seems so wrong, creating a cover story for Matt. And wait, hiring us?”

”If you want. You’re good, and Murdock’s going to need the help. At least until he gets better, I know you’ve both wanted your own firm, I can throw money at you if that’s what you want, but wasn’t sure if you’d like to join our team.”

”Job offers, at a time like this?!” Both voices raised, anger, frustration bleeding through they hushed voices of tears.

”It’s as good a time as any, we’re waiting to bid money to buy your best friend, not sure what else we can talk about. The weather perhaps? I’ve sorted everything, discreet transport, a medical team sworn to secrecy, cover identities, cash. I’m trying to distract you Nelson from the fact your friend could be dying right now and I can’t move any faster to get him home for you! And to distract us from the horror that is buying a human being!”

They both stood, facing each other, chests heaving through anger, and through the sobs threatening to rip themselves from their throats. A beat of silence, as the red bled from faces, anger slipping into neutrality and to compassion.

 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” The words spilling out in unison, apologies, voices broken, swiftly interrupted by the sound of beeping.

“Sirs, the bidding is starting.” Any anger soon forgotten, they crowded back to the computers, watching numbers after numbers flit across the page, Tony rapidly typing in response, raising and raising his bid. ”Fuck, they’re desperate.” The numbers sped, thousands turning to hundreds of thousands. Then they slowed, bids coming in slower, but still increasing.

“Good, less of us now. Someone’s eager somewhere though.” His typing slowed, every number instantly matched by another, a back and forth of desperation.

“One other. J, fancy sending some persuasion for me bud?” As had become habit with most people in the tower, Stark aimed most requests for the AI towards the ceiling. ”Care package request sent.”

“Thanks J.” Tilting his head toward Foggy, he continued to type whilst talking. “Offering them money if they drop out of this.” Foggy nodded, numb to speaking. Slowly, surely, the trickle of numbers slowed on the screen, fixing at an impossibly high number.

“Fuck. He’s ours.”

“How can people spend so much money on a person?! How can they think this is right, how can they fight so much to spend this much on a human trophy?!”

“More money than sense, and pure greed. They’d pay a lot more if someone managed to capture one of the Avengers, or they wouldn’t even let them go. We’re only human, but they take pride in breaking people. It’s disgusting, I know, but we can get him out of here, get him out of here, track where the money goes to, and dismantle that whole ring hopefully. He’s our priority first though, we’ve got him, he’s coming home.”

Text flashed up on the screen, a brief congratulations and then info on collection.

“Okay, next stage. Get our devil home.”

The next few hours went by in a blur, but soon they were on the move, a discreet black van, set up with all the medical care they could need. A doctor sat, waiting, prepared, to give initial care. Happy coming to offer Foggy some protection, Tony too recognisable to collect Matt. Iron Man suits were on standby, Tony having gone ahead and sat on a nearby rooftop, and the medbay was prepped.


	30. Caregiver

Although a quick journey, it seemed to take far too long. Sat in silence, hands clutched around a briefcase filled with far too much money. The location wasn’t too far from Hell’s Kitchen, an abandoned warehouse, dark and dingy. As they left the van, they pulled hoods over, covering their faces in shadow.  
Two men came out to meet them, masks over their faces. “3666?”  
”Yes. It’s all here.” Foggy was proud of the fact his voice didn’t waver, even though all he wanted to do was run from here, grab Matt, and get home. The case was taken from him, the money quickly scanned and checked.  
“Good. He’s out of it, don’t want him knowing where he’s going.” One man went back into the building, dragging Matt behind him, stumbling feet refusing to follow. “He’ll go sleep in a few minutes, should last you a couple of hours.”   
Foggy choked on his breath, looking at the scrapes and bruises more visible, the way the suit hung off his body, and the weak trembling hands which strained to push away, to fight. He moved in to grab Matt, pulling his arm over his shoulder, thankful when Happy moved in to help. They turned, walking away quickly, quietly cursing. As they reached the van, Matt groaned, a breathless sound, before slipping into unconsciousness fully, limp, unresponsive.   
“Shit.” They lifted him, the doctor helping, laying him out onto the gurney in the back of the van. Happy quickly moved to the driver’s side, starting the engine and rushing them away. With trembling hands, Foggy helped to undo his suit, wincing at the injuries that were slowly revealed, scars, still healing wounds, old and new.   
“They gave him something to keep him unconscious for a few hours, don’t know what, he was drowsy when they brought him out.”  
“Okay, okay. Shit this is bad.” The doctor moved quickly, passing Foggy things to hold as he swiftly put in IVs for fluids, checked blood pressure, checked heartrate, breathing. Took a blood sample, “I need to find out what’s in his system, before I can give him anything else.” Covered him in blankets, as he started to shiver, before working on the smaller injuries, things that could be fixed in the back of a rattling van, and with only two sets of hands. “I want to get food into him but I can’t in case he has to go straight in for surgery. And I need him awake which I can’t do until these drugs wear off or his bloods come back. His ribs are fucked to put it bluntly, I don’t know what internal injuries he might have. Fuck, I just could do with asking him, he’d have more of an idea hopefully, but I can’t do that either, because they put him out.” Over speaker, the doctors back at the tower listened, cataloguing injuries as he described them, and they could hear shouts of scans being organised, theatre being prepped. In this moment, Foggy was oh so thankful that Stark had all of this, that he had a private hospital as such in his tower. Although not so private if the news was anything to go by, he’d heard that many people had used it, Stark funding them for treatments they couldn’t afford. 

As they stopped, the doors were thrown open, a team of people rushing in, grabbing the gurney, and racing to the medbay. Foggy was soon lost behind them, trying to catch up, stopping as a pair of hands were thrown out, a younger nurse stopping him from following her colleagues. “He’s going into to have a CT scan, see if he’s bleeding internally, you can’t go in with him. We’re waiting for the bloods to come back, and then we can work on getting more fluids and nutrients into him, hopefully if he comes around he can eat something. He’s in the right hands now, we’ve got him. You can see him once we’ve got him tidied up and into a bed?”  
”Okay, okay, is there anything I can do to help?” She looked at his panic stricken face, realising the need to be busy. “Maybe find some of his own things? He’s been deafened partially if the info we had is true, he’s going to be confused when he comes around and might not recognise you. Maybe collect his blankets or sheets from home, anything that smells like him or people he trusts, maybe some of his own music, anything that relaxes him, a favourite drink, not alcohol though. You concentrate on making his room as homely as possible, because he’s going to be in there for a while unfortunately, this recovery isn’t going to be quick.”  
”Okay. Collect Matt’s things. Ring his people. Okay. You have my phone number?”  
”Yes, look after yourself Mr Nelson, he’s going to need you.”

Yet again, Foggy felt as though the world was blurring around him. He vaguely remembered talking to Tony and Happy, before he was driven to Matt’s apartment, where he found himself stood, just looking at the room. There was a small pile of letters just inside the door, bills owing. He picked them up, planning to ring them later to pay them. He moved around in a trance, collecting the stupidly soft blankets and pillows Matt owned, and his silk sheets. His laptop, his headphones and music player. A box of his tea. 

As he locked up behind him, arms filled with what he hoped Matt treasured, the tears finally fell. It was all too true now, the shock wearing off, his abandoned apartment seeming like a shrine to someone forgotten. Nearing the car, Happy didn’t comment, simply taking things off of him, placing them in the boot. 

“Do you want to talk Nelson?”  
”Call me Foggy, please. It’s just, it seems so real suddenly, like a nightmare come to life. I think, I think I was in shock, it seemed so unreal before, but picking him up, paying for him, that was horrible. And now he’s in hospital, and no one really knows what’s wrong, what happened to him, and we’re just waiting. I know he’s in the best care he can have, but what do we do now? Before, I think I was focused on getting him home, and now the road seems so much rougher, so much more uncertain. For some reason I was expecting him to be fine, tricking myself.”  
”Like you said, he’s in the best care. I know you’re worried, he’s your best friend.”  
“More than that. We’re family, I’m all he’s got.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with me on Tumblr! Help me with prompts for future chapters, give me characters, extra prompts for a day, specific scenes you'd like me to have an attempt at wrangling.
> 
> https://stripedscribe.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> prompt list: https://stripedscribe.tumblr.com/post/178616557760/la-vie-en-whump-october-approaches-in
> 
> Look after your local fanwork creator, they make nothing from sharing their work, and survive off of comments and interaction with their readers!


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